Bleed to Love You
by 823freckles
Summary: 30 Days of prompts on Hannibal and Alana's developing relationship. Previously called "30 Days of Hannibloom." Please read and review!
1. Ravage Me

**Title:** Ravage Me, Day 1 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** nc-17  
**Author's notes:** Thanks for charlotteof_denmark for sharing her wonderful idea and prompts with me!

* * *

She stretched her arms above her head, raising the paper in her hands above her head too. "Wow, I've never read so much crap in my life."

Alana threw down the application from a hopeful doctoral candidate on top of the increasingly disordered pile of application she'd been reading.

"Language, Alana. That's a lot of vitriol coming from you, Doctor."

She shivered in delight. Hannibal had called her doctor. A step up from him usual "Ms. Bloom" when he chastised her.

She bowed her head. "That was rude of me. Sorry. I just don't think I can take any more of this tonight."

He stood up from his spot across from her at his dining room table. "Perhaps you just need a drink."

He turned from the table and walked to his fridge. He took out a hand-capped bottle of dark ale, and uncapped it with a flourish. "My own recipe," he explained, as he poured out the beer into a pint glass. He placed the glass in front of her, and waited for her to drink.

She generally preferred pale ales, but she wasn't about to disrespect Hannibal when he shared his own brew with her. She hesitantly raised the glass and took a swig.

It was delicious. She tipped the glass to Hannibal and said, "You know, now that I've had your special brew, Hannibal, I don't think I'm going to go back to Budweiser and Miller."

He tapped his brow and winked. "Nor should you. Those are inferior drinks unsuited to you."

He picked up his own glass of Chianti and took an appreciative sip. "I would like you to try this. It's time for you to appreciate the pleasure of a robust bouquet." He offered her his glass.

She took a sip and swallowed, allowing the wine to warm her insides. "It's delicious. But what can I say? I'm a beer girl." She passed the wine glass back to Hannibal and picked up her own glass of beer, taking an appreciative swig. "I think I can handle one more…okay, two more applications, then I need dinner."

"It will be my pleasure to cook for you, Alana."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal rubbed the large cut of meat with spices as Alana hastily chopped an onion, tears welling in her eyes. When she was finished, she moved onto the pile of carrots. He glanced up and saw her sloppy knife work, the onions and carrots unevenly sliced.

"Your knife work needs improving." Ever the honest and appraising educator, he said, "Let me show you, Ms. Bloom." She was back to her role as his pupil, a role both familiar and comfortable. He walked around her and wrapped his strong arms around her body. She bit her lip and the knife slipped in her hand.

"Careful!" He grasped her hands and guided her with gentle but assured movements. He was confident in the kitchen and in his skill as he helped her slice the carrots evenly.

"Do you see?" he asked as he let go of her hands. She felt disappointed at the loss of his hands on hers, but she answered.

"Yes. I think I've got it now." She picked up the last carrot and sliced it evenly and assuredly. He nodded his approval as he returned to the roast.

Alana felt like she'd lost another chance, but for what, she wasn't sure.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alana finished the last bite on her plate, then picked up her glass of ale and took another drink. She was beginning to feel light and loose from the liquor coursing through her system. She rarely allowed herself to drink heavily anymore. But in Hannibal's presence, she felt free, especially since she had not failed to notice that he had finished another sizeable glass of wine with dinner. She picked up her empty plate and stood, then stepped towards Hannibal.

"That was delicious, as always." As a sign of appreciation, she brushed her free hand against his hand resting next to his plate.

He grasped her wrist as she pulled away and ran one finger up then down her arm. "You are always the appreciative guest to my host, Alana." He stood, his delicate but strong fingers still on her wrist.

It has to be the wine. He'd never touched her like this, so intimately, before.

When she kissed him, she thought, "The beer too. It's the beer."

She stood on tiptoes to kiss him again, her heels discarded earlier while assessing candidates. He groaned, deep in his throat. Then he pulled away, and she sighed in disappointment. She prepared herself to apologize, but he simply took her plate and placed it on the table next to his. He grasped her wrists and pulled her to him, initiating a kiss. Emboldened by the liquor and his kiss, she flit her tongue out between her lips, touching the tip of her tongue to the corner of his mouth. He tasted like wine and meat and a taste she couldn't identify. A purely Hannibal taste.

He pulled her from the dining room into his living room, maneuvering them around his piano as he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her neck. He breathed warm against her pulse spot on her neck right below her jaw, and she shivered. Then he bit her right on her jaw, and she cried out.

He abruptly spun her around and she gasped as he pressed her against the arm of his sofa. His hands ran up her body from her hips to her breasts. He palmed her breasts, and she felt her nipples harden beneath her dress. He began to rub her hardened nipples between the tips of his fingers, making circles around the lust-sore nubs. As he continued his ministrations on her right breast, he lifted his left hand and brushed her hair back from her neck. Hannibal kissed her neck, and then sucked on her earlobe. Alana sighed as he whispered into her ear, "Tell me what you want me to do to you, Ms. Bloom."

"I want you to…I want you to…ravage me," she stumbled over the words, whispering.

He spun her around again, giving her a light push so that she fell over the arm of the sofa, her behind landing on the soft cushions. He grasped her legs and spun them off of the sofa's arm onto the floor. Then he lithely went to his knees between her legs, which she spread willingly before him.

He lifted her dress and ripped off her panties, pulling the shreds free from her legs without her help. Her legs were closed again in shyness, and he shoved them apart. Leaning forward, he bit her thigh, drawing blood. Alana screamed. She could feel the droplets rise on her sore skin, and he licked the blood on her thigh. He raised blood red lips to her, and pulled her neck down to kiss him. She tasted her own metallic blood on his tongue.

"You're delectable, Alana. I could. Eat. You. Whole," He enunciated, each word sending a shiver up her spine.

Her head spun. "Yes. Please."

"Call me master. Tell your master to ravage you."

"Ravage me, master. Ravage me, Dr. Lecter."

He lowered his head between her thighs and licked.

"Buzzzzzzzzz."

Alana's alarm went off. Her shoulders bunched and she sighed as she rolled away from the patch of sweat she'd left in her bed.

She wondered how many nights she was going to spend dreaming of Hannibal Lecter between her legs.

* * *

We're always awoken from our best dreams at inopportune moments, aren't we? And I can be cruel, so it seemed like a great place to wake our dear Alana. ;)


	2. Seeking Comfort

**Title:** Seeking Comfort, Day 2 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13  
**Author's notes:** Thanks for charlotteof_denmark for sharing her wonderful idea and prompts with me!

* * *

A gunshot rang out, and Alana Bloom threw herself sideways. She heard the whoosh of the bullet as it zoomed past her head, and then the wet smack as it connected with Dr. Chilton's face. She fell from her chair and so did the killer-victim. As she lay on the floor, she found herself staring, enraptured, at the hole in the man's head, and the pool of blood spreading around him. It felt like hours passed as Alana caught her breath on the floor. In reality, mere seconds passed.

Jack Crawford entered the room, helping her to her feet as other agents rushed to Dr. Chilton's aid. She heard the cry of "call 911" as if from a distance, like she was listening to an echo at the end of a long tunnel. She swayed on her feet as Jack held her elbow.

"Easy, Alana, easy." He led her from the room, navigating their path around Frederick's prone body on the floor, surrounded by agents and the spreading pool of blood.

In the hallway, Jack stopped her, leaning her against the wall. She slid halfway down the wall, her elbows coming to rest on her knees.

"Whoa, Dr. Bloom."

She drew a deep breath to steady herself. "I'm okay. I'm okay." She was speaking to herself as much as to Jack Crawford.

"You're okay," Jack confirmed. "Can you walk, Alana? Let's get you somewhere safe and quiet."

She stood, and he hovered behind her, ready to catch her on unsteady feet again if need be. But she was steady and solid, even if the world continued to spin in her eyes.

She followed Jack down the hall to an empty interrogation room. He led her to the table in the center of the room, pulling out the chair for her. She sat and turned to Jack.

Jack said, "You'll be alright here. An agent will be with you shortly to take you statement. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

Alana could tell he itched to get back to the scene. "No," she answered.

He left, and she waited.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alana walked from the FBI building in the falling dark after giving her statement. Her heels scraped the concrete as she walked to the parking garage to her car.

Comfort. If there was one thing Alana Bloom needed right now, it was comfort.

She drove to Hannibal Lecter's house.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She rang the bell. Listening for the muffled patter of his steps as he walked his entryway to open the door, she shifted from one foot to the other. Hannibal opened the door.

"Alana. I wasn't expecting you," he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Come in."

She entered his home and he closed the door behind her. He took her coat as she apologized, "I'm sorry to show up so late and unexpected. I just…" she paused as she searched for the words to explain what she had witnessed that afternoon.

"Come to my sitting room." He led her through his entryway into an adjacent room. She sat in a large armchair by his blazing fireplace. She leaned into the heat.

"I'll be back in just a moment. Relax, Alana. The words will come to you when you're ready, and I'll be away just briefly," he said, brushing his fingertips against her shoulder.

She listened to the crackle of the fire as she waited for Hannibal's return. When he entered the room with a glass of beer in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, she sighed. He handed her the beer and she took a tentative sip of the familiar ale, Hannibal's special brew.

"What happened? Tell me."

She explained what she had seen, how she was in the interrogation room with Dr. Chilton when he was shot by Miriam Lass. How the bullet passed mere inches from her own head.

"It was horrible, Hannibal." She shuddered as she remembered the scene, picturing it in snapshots of horror in her memories. "The blood…"

He nodded as he poured out a beer for her. "You have never seen someone shot in front of you. The shot passed right by your own head. How did that make you feel, Alana?"

She paused with the beer halfway to her lips. She knew how it made her feel but was ashamed to answer, even though she knew her answer was understandable. "Alive," she whispered. "I felt alive."

"That is to be expected. You saw your own mortality. Never have you seen it so clearly, so vividly."

She nodded. "Miriam Lass is a trained agent. She still has the skill she possessed before she was taken by the Ripper, by Chilton. She couldn't miss him; he was a straight shot. And yet, I keep thinking about if she'd hit me instead."

He took her hand in his. "It is natural to picture one's own death when faced with the possibility of death, when seeing someone else's life depart." Hannibal sipped his wine with one hand as he ran his fingers of the other hand over hers. "You came to my house tonight, seeking comfort. From an old friend, someone you view as a professional equal, and now, a lover. How can I comfort you, Alana?"

Alana pondered the question as she listened to the fire. Her answer was quiet and childlike.

"Hug me," she whispered.

"It would be my great pleasure." Hannibal put down his wine glass and pulled Alana to her feet as he too stood.

He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight to him. His thick, muscular arms rested against her arms and back. She was wrapped in Hannibal Lecter's warm embrace. She sighed and wriggled closer to him, content. He reached one arm up from the small of her back and stroked her dark hair. She let out a little breathy moan.

"You want 'funeral sex' again, Alana?" Hannibal asked.

She smiled for the first time that horrible evening, and kissed him.

* * *

Constructive criticism (and/or fawning over my awesomeness, haha) is much appreciated.


	3. Comfort Found

**Title:** Comfort Found, Day 3 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** nc-17  
**Author's notes:** This is the second half of the previous chapter. Unless otherwise stated, most chapters in 30 Days of Hannibloom are meant to stand alone.

* * *

Later, in Hannibal's bedroom, Alana languished naked on his bed, Hannibal massaging her feet. "Where do you want me to kiss you, Ms. Bloom?" he asked, addressing her as he had when she was his pupil, and as he did when he felt playful, teasing. She loved it.

"Hmm…" she pondered, as she wriggled her feet in his hands.

"How about your toes?" He leaned down and placed a sloppily wet kiss on her big toe, then took it in his mouth and sucked.

Alana shrieked and squirmed away from him.

"You're ticklish! How delightful."

Alana propped herself up on her elbows to gaze down at Hannibal. Her mouth quirked, she said, "You know where I want you to 'kiss' me, Hannibal."

"Your calves, my dear?" He moved his mouth up her leg, placing delicate kisses followed my nips on her calves. "Or how about your thighs?" His mouth continued up her left leg, leaving behind a trail of wet marks. He bit near the top of her thigh, then switched his ministrations to her right thigh.

"Hannibal, please," she begged.

He leaned forward on his haunches and blew lightly on her mons, then placed a kiss right at the top where her stomach met it, her barely-there stubble scratching his lips. Then he ran his tongue up to her belly button, where he swirled his tongue. Alana giggled.

He was now firmly pressed against her as moved his mouth to her ribs (ticklish here too, she giggled again) and then to her breasts. She felt his erection pushing against her leg. He ran his tongue up her right breast to her nipple. He then took the hardened nub into his mouth and began sucking, first gently, then roughly, then gently again. He switched to her left breast, kissing and sucking. This time, he added in biting, starting gentle, then getting rough, so rough that she cried out. Oh, how she treasured it when he lost himself in her, letting his darker side take over.

He continued switching between her breasts, unable to focus on one for long before tasting the other. She pressed herself up against him, letting him feel the wetness between her thighs. He responded by pressing his erection harder against her, and groaning around her nipple. She gasped at the amazing sensation.

Hannibal pulled away abruptly, and she frowned. He pressed a wet, quick kiss to her lips and then spoke. "We've played enough, haven't we, my dear? Turn over."

He pulled further away from her, balancing on his knees at the end of her bed. She turned over beneath his appraising gaze. He spanked her behind, and said, "On your knees."

She shivered in anticipation and followed his direction, getting on her knees. A moment later, she again felt his warm breath between her thighs. This time, he didn't tease any further. He put his mouth on her lips, running his tongue up her lips to her clitoris. When he flicked his tongue against her, she moaned. He licked the nub, feeling it harden and enlarge against his tongue. Then he took it in his mouth and gently sucked.

Alana cried out, "Han-. Han-!"

Her pussy dripped as he continued lightly sucking on her clitoris, her juices glistening on his chin.

She groaned and shifted her weight to one hand, raising the other to play with her breast. She was so close. So close. She bucked against Hannibal's face as he continued to consume her as though she was to be his last meal.

The heat of Hannibal's mouth was suddenly gone, and she had been _so close_. She let out a noise of pure frustration and turned to look at him. He was on his knees behind her, towering above her, his eyes shining in the half-dark.

She shut her eyes and waited, sensing rather than seeing him move into position at her entrance. He thrust inside her ohsoquick. He filled her with his sizeable erection. He paused. She thrust back against him, trying to get him to move, trying to ride his cock. He placed his large hands on her hips and held her in place. She groaned in frustration.

"Patience, lover," he whispered.

He finally moved inside her, pulling out slowly, then thrusting back in just as slowly. She clenched her fists against the sheets, trying to keep herself from bucking against him. She wanted him to go faster, but he kept up a slow, steady pace.

Finally, she could take it no more. She pulled away from him and turned to face him. A quizzical look on his face, he opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a kiss.

She pulled away and said, "I can't take the slow rhythm tonight. I want to ride you hard."

"Your wish is my command, Alana."

He lay down and she straddled him. Grasping his cock, she lowered herself onto him. She placed her hands on his chest for leverage, then started to ride him. Alana arched her back, her breasts bouncing as she moved up and down on Hannibal's cock. She fucked him hard, head thrown back. He grasped her hair, pulling her head down for a kiss.

She kissed him roughly as her mind cried, "love you, love you, love you." She knew it was too soon for that, and that she wasn't really in love with him yet after all. But she was close; love was coming, if she was thinking it already. Love would come and she would be helpless to stop it.

Love would come, but first, Alana came. Hannibal felt her muscles contract around his erection, and he grasped her hips hard, thrusting up into her once, twice. Then he orgasmed inside of her with a growl. Alana collapsed on top of him.

Hannibal held her for a minute, placing kisses along her forehead and cheeks, and then rolled her off of him. Alana lay beside him, feeling him leak out of her, a feeling she adored. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing.

She felt fingers run through her hair, and she opened her eyes to gaze into Hannibal's.

"Did you find the comfort you sought?" he asked.

She nodded sleepily, closing her eyes again. He pulled her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist and one arm under her neck.

She felt him place a gentle kiss to her cheek as she drifted off into a nightmareless sleep.

* * *

Comments are as always, much appreciated.


	4. Watching You

**Title:** Watching You, Day 4 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** r  
**Author's notes:** I'm late! So this is just a small drabble to fill the prompt I'm late on-hope you all like voyeur!Hannibal.

* * *

"For you, there'll be no more crying. For you, the sun will be shining..."

Hannibal stopped at the door, where steam seeped around the edge of the door jam. He heard singing coming from within the room. Curious, he peered around the edge of the door. He could see his shower in the sliver of door he peeked through. Alana was in the shower, singing. He nudged the door open further with his toe. Thankfully, the door did not creak.

He watched her move in the shower as her singing turned to wordless humming. The cascade caressed the sides of her body, splashing around her head, her breasts, and her hips as she moved in it, swaying to the song in her head he didn't recognize.

Her dark hair was a flat sheet against her back, her curls gone in the heavy weight of the hot water. He watched as she squirted a dollop of shampoo into her hand, then rubbed the shampoo into her long hair, separating out tangles with her fingertips as she massaged the foam through her hair. She stepped into the spray of the shower head. The shampoo residue sluiced down her back, foam running over the two perfect globes of her behind. Hannibal longed to enter the shower behind her silently, taking her into his hands. Next he watched as she grabbed a bar of soap and started massaging it over her breasts. He could see her nipples harden against her nimble fingers as she rubbed the soap over them. Next, her soapy hand slid down her front to her mons pubis. He shivered as she slid one soapy finger inside of her body.

She was simply stunning. His mouth watered.

"You know I can see you there, Hannibal."

Wrapped up in his apparently not-so-subtle observation of Alana, he jumped in surprise when she called him out.

He backed away slowly and silently from the door. He'd just feign innocence when she got out of the shower. "That's precisely what I'll do," he thought, as he attempted to will away his burgeoning erection.

After all, watching someone in the shower was rude. And we all know what Hannibal Lecter does to the rude.

* * *

The song Alana sings is "Songbird" by Fleetwood Mac. She's shamelessly falling in love, poor girl.


	5. Facilis descensus averno

**Title:** Facilis descensus averno, Day 5 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13

* * *

Alana Renee Bloom knows she has abandonment issues. She has devoted her adult life to psychology, so she knows where her abandonment issues come from too. Not that they're not obvious. Her father packed up his bags one day and left. One day he was there, and poof, the next, gone. They told her "It's not your fault." And she'd hear whisperings of, "It was a long time coming." But it _felt_ like her fault, and it certainly hadn't _felt_ like a long time coming to eight year-old Alana. Her daddy had been her favorite, her prince. Her daddy had tucked her in every night, read to her from _Charlotte's Web_ or _The Wizard of Oz _or some other novel. They'd been on _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ when he left. Alana never finished the book. When she found it under her bed collecting dust when she packed for college, she tasted something bitter and almost metallic in the back of her throat, and threw it in the trash. That was the first and only time the studious, literary-loving Alana Bloom ever threw out a book.

So Alana Bloom knows she has abandonment issues, and she knows where they come from. But as any psychologist could tell you, _knowing_ where your issues come from and _getting over them_ are two very different things.

She knows she has rarely let men into her life because of her father. She's afraid to trust because deep down she knows (or at least feels) that any man she comes to love will leave her.

Tonight, she finds herself running through a field in the dark, her breath puffing out in front of her in the frigid spring air. Her eyes have not yet adjusted to the darkness, and she trips over large stones in her path.

She grabs onto one as she trips again, and feels the smooth, cool stone beneath her fingertips. It is too smooth for something natural; this stone is man-made. She runs her trembling fingers over the stone and feels the notches of letters carved into it. Her eyes are beginning to adjust to the dark, but she feels the letters as if she is blind and reading Braille lettering; the words spells "Beverly Katz."

She pulls her hands back from the stone as though she has been scalded, though the stone is so cold, as cold as death. She is at Beverly's gravestone, and the other stones she has tripped over are other gravestones. She is in a cemetery.

She shivers in the cold and the dark and puts her hands in her pockets. In her pockets, she feels her keys, a pack of cigarettes, though she hasn't smoked since medical school, and an oblong metal cylinder. She pulls this out and feels for the switch on the side; when she finds the switch, she flicks it and light shines out bright in the darkness from the flashlight.

She plays the flashlight over the nearby graves. No name is familiar except for Beverly's grave right in front of her. But she knows she is looking for a particular grave. She's just not sure whose grave she is looking for.

Alana picks herself up from the ground and walks gingerly around gravestones, slow and silent in respect for the dead. She trains her flashlight over grave after grave.

Her eyes pause beneath a simple square stone of granite amidst weeds. This grave is uncared for, and she feels pity for its inhabitant. The stone was unusual with a piano etched upon it. Superimposed on the piano is a burning heart, and below, the words, " Facilis descensus averno." Her Latin is poor, but she believes it reads, "The descent to hell is easy."

Below the images and the disturbing phrase is the name Hannibal Lecter.

She screams. From the grave she hears a voice-his voice. "Alana. Alana!"

She opens her eyes. Pale light shines from behind the curtains in Hannibal's bedroom. The inhabitant of the bedroom is currently shaking her gently, his head cocked to the side, studying her.

"Alana. You were having a nightmare, my dear." He brushes her sweat-slicked hair back from her face. She shudders.

Alana Bloom has abandonment issues, and ever since becoming romantically involved with Hannibal, she's found herself having nightmares. They're different every night, but they always end the same. They always end with him leaving her.

This one was particularly bad. Never before has she pictured Hannibal leaving her by death. Does she find comfort in knowing that he didn't leave her voluntarily in this nightmare? There is no comfort, for he is gone, gone, gone.

She forces herself further awake, and reminds herself that Hannibal is not gone, but here, real, solid, _alive_, right next to her.

Hannibal kisses her forehead. "Tell me about your nightmare. It will certainly feel less real and therefore have less pull in the light of morning," Hannibal prods her.

Alana takes a deep breath to steady herself. "I'm...embarrassed."

"Of?" He asks.

"Of what you'll make of my nightmare." She turns toward him in his big bed and places one hand on his chest. "If I tell you...will you tell me what you have nightmares about? You told me once..."

His eyes flash dark and dangerous. For a moment, she feels afraid of him. But only for a moment.

"They'll have less pull in morning light, right?" she asks lightly.

He smiles, a brilliant, beautiful smile. "Yes, my dear. I'll share. You first though."

She tells him of her nightmare. When she finishes, she waits for him to psychoanalyze her dream.

Instead, Hannibal takes a deep breath and gets out of bed. He grabs a key from his bedside table and then walks to a trunk in the corner of his room. He bends down and unlocks the trunk, pulling a photograph from the trunk. She waits patiently for him to return as he stares at the photograph, lost in thought.

He returns to the bed, and when he looks up at her, she knows what Hannibal the boy looked like, innocent, open, and afraid. He hesitates, and then hands her the photograph.

"I have nightmares about being left too, Alana."

There is a crease down the middle of the yellowed photograph, right through the face of the little girl who peers out of the black and white photograph. She is small and chubby, a toddler angel frozen in time as she giggles and holds out her hands to the photographer.

"She was my sister. Her name was Mischa."

* * *

Please read and review!


	6. The Scent of Sex and Death

**Title:** The Scent of Sex and Death, Day 6 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** nc-17

* * *

Even from across the room, the intoxicating scent of Alana Bloom stood out.

He first smelled lavender and almonds. That was her face wash. Her neck smelled of blood orange and bergamot, her cologne. Honey and shea was her shampoo, and her skin, oh, her skin smelled of salt and strawberries, her favorite fruit. He'd watched her suckle on the juicy red fruit as she cooked with him, staining her lips red, and he'd spent the next hours cooking with the start of an erection as he'd imagined those red lips sucking him.

Underneath the mix of manufactured and natural scents she emanated was her own scent. The scent of Alana. Exquisite, woman, all blood that beat in time with her pulse. And lust, of course. Now he could smell lust, that sweet, heady smell that flowed from the growing dampness between her thighs.

He walked across the foyer to where Alana conversed with the newest conductor of the Baltimore Lyric Opera. Her face shone with the joy of her first successful dinner party, a pleasure he was quite familiar with and that he relished.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but the hostess is needed in the kitchen."

The conductor tipped his head and said, "Of course. It was my pleasure, Alana."

Hannibal gently grasped Alana at the elbow and led her to his large kitchen, then through the door into the cellar.

"Hannibal, what-"

He cut her off with a kiss.

She tasted like "beef" roulade, the meat supplied by a rude, cheating, and now rather delectable mechanic. He felt himself swell against the zipper of his dress pants at the taste, and he pressed his growing erection against her.

She groaned in response. "Now, Hannibal?" Have you no self-control?" she teased.

"You desire me. I could smell it from well across the room, my dear."

She breathed against his mouth, releasing more of that delicious scent of flesh. "You're right, of course." She placed a quick peck to his lips. "But the waiters could walk in here at any moment."

Hannibal pulled away and turned the lock to the cellar.

She grinned. "Against the door?"

A dark thought flitted across Hannibal's mind. "No, follow me." He led her deeper into the recesses of his cellar to a place he'd shown no one who would live before.

He was going to take her, fuck her up against the butcher block where he'd cut off Miriam Lass's arm.

Among others.

He led her to the large table in the back of his dimly lit cellar. He did not switch on the overhead lights as he might have during butchering. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the musky scent of old blood and sharp fear from the block.

"A butcher block?" she questioned as her eyes scanned the butchering implements and the table. Her eyes held no fear, only curiosity.

"For when I have large cuts of meat, yes. Did you know I donate cuts to a local homeless shelter each week?"

She licked her lips. "You never fail to surprise me with your graciousness, Hannibal Lecter. Now come here." She backed against the table and beckoned to him.

He went to her, wrapping his long arms around her, and unzipped her strapless navy dress. The dress pooled to the floor as he unzipped his own fly. He pulled out his erection. He couldn't wait tonight; there was no time for foreplay. She must have sensed his desperate need, because she wrapped one leg around him and pulled him close.

He reached between their heated bodies and shoved aside her thong. Then he entered her in one quick movement. She gasped against his neck and then started thrusting her hips in time with his thrusts. He grasped the butcher block and rode her against it. He knew the wooden edge must be digging into her thighs, and he hoped it hurt. He hoped she loved the pain.

He bit her neck as he got close, and she cried out. The metallic scent of fresh blood mingling with the old filled the air. He licked the trickle of blood on her neck, then kissed her, letting her taste her own blood on his tongue. She moaned against his lips and sucked his tongue into her mouth.

He breathed in the scent of sex and death as he got close, closer, feeling his orgasm building in his scrotum.

"Hannibal, we smell so goooood," she breathed against his throat. Thus he came, filling her with his hot load in his cellar of death.

* * *

This got rather dark, rather fast. I do not apologize.

Let me know what you think of another porny chapter!


	7. Little Red in the Wolf's Arms

**Title:** Little Red in the Wolf's Arms, Day 7 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13

* * *

She felt like Little Red Riding Hood in her scarlet wrap dress as she pulled out her grandmother's old wicker picnic basket. She had no big bad wolf after her though. Just Hannibal…her lover? How odd to think of him that way, she thought. But that's what he was. Mentor, colleague, and now, lover.

She'd spent the morning making a Caprese salad, pesto chicken panini fillings, and a lemon blueberry cake. Nothing she concocted was as gourmet as something Hannibal would pack, but she'd put a lot of effort into their picnic, and she hoped he would appreciate her efforts. She packed the Tupperware dishes into the basket, followed by cutlery and checkered cloth napkins. Finally, she added a bottle of La Cana Albariño wine. She closed the basket. Applesauce gently pawed at her leg.

"I almost forgot you!" she trilled to the pup. She grabbed a bottle of water and a portable dish as well as some dog treats from her pantry and added them to the basket. She stepped back and admired her handiwork. Lunch smelled delicious and truly looked like something out of a storybook.

Alana was ready for what she considered her first official date with Hannibal Lecter. They'd spent the last few weeks eating dinner at his house and falling into bed for hours at a time before falling asleep in each other's arms. But they hadn't yet had a date. Alana was going to change that. Spring was finally here, and she decided that meant it was time for a picnic in the park with her new lover.

She took her picnic basket and placed it by the door. Applesauce sniffed it hopefully as she put on her spring jacket and walking shoes. Then she grabbed the dog's leash. Applesauce spun in excited circles as Alana maneuvered the leash onto the dog. She grabbed her purse and her picnic basket and headed out the door to Hannibal's house.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they arrived at the park, they found a spot by Lake Roland under a shady tree. Hannibal spread a blanket below the tree and opened her picnic basket. He pulled out the foodstuffs she had packed, and make a spread upon the blanket. She uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. She put out a bowl of water and treats for Applesauce. Then she sat with her legs tucked under her and he followed, sitting gingerly on the blanket. She raised her glass to his, and he tapped his glass lightly against hers. "To…us," she said.

"To us," he responded.

They ate. Always gracious, Hannibal complimented the meal profusely. When they were finished, they sat and watched passersby on the lake path. She enjoyed sitting quietly beside him, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. She placed her hand over his on the blanket and squeezed. He turned to her and smiled his gorgeous smile and placed a kiss on her lips. She shivered.

"Are you cold, my dear?"

"A bit."

He pulled his sweater over his head and handed it to her. She pulled it over her own head and inhaled. It smelled like Hannibal, and it was warm from his body. She sighed, comforted.

Hannibal wrapped her hands in his. "Walk with me," he said. She stood as he packed the remains of their lunch. Then they walked down the path, him swinging the basket at his side and Applesauce following at her heels.

Alana watched Hannibal as he walked. Despite his reservations about a picnic in the park, he was clearly enjoying himself. Applesauce ran down the path ahead of them, and Hannibal paused by a tree to observe a caterpillar. She pictured him as a tousle-haired boy with a magnifying glass staring at the insect, and giggled at the image in her head.

"What's tickled you, Alana?"

"You're enjoying yourself, Hannibal, admit it."

He inhaled deeply. "Indeed I am. Thank you. This has been a pleasurable day thus far."

They continued down the path. Alana chased after Applesauce, laughing as the dog jumped and barked. She felt Hannibal's eyes following her every move with appreciation. She felt adored, and she relished the feeling. It had been a long time since she'd been involved with a man, not counting whatever little tryst she almost had with Will, and she'd forgotten how good it all felt.

Applesauce dashed up the path, then veered off of the path. Alana jogged to catch up to her dog.

"Applesauce!" She called to her, but Applesauce just barked in response.

Alana walked off the path, carefully stepping over the underbrush. She followed Applesauce's barks to a copse just off the path.

The smell hit her first. Then she saw the corpse, splayed out and flayed open. She screamed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal watched from the path as Alana found the body of the city councilman. His pupils dilated in excitement as he heard her cry out and loudly thrash her way back from the body to the path. He put on a look of surprise and concern.

"What is it, Alana, my dear?"

"A body. Oh, Hannibal, Applesauce found a body."

She threw herself against him. As she shuddered against him, he smiled. He stroked her hair as his insides danced in ecstasy. To see Alana find his work: it had been his design.

"Little Red Riding Hood finds herself in the wolf's arms. Yes, indeed. This has been a good day at the park," he thought.

* * *

Happy Easter to those who celebrate! I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter!


	8. Hush, My Rue

**Title:** Hush, My Rue, Day 8 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13

* * *

In the following weeks, Alana went through the motions of the days like a phantom. She did not think, nor did she feel anything.

But nights were the hardest. After the day's light departed, she was mentally visited by the dead and the not-so-dead. Will, not free, but still locked up, not only physically but metaphorically in the depths of his encephalitis madness, passed through her head. He chastised her for not helping him. Then he ran through specters of other victims. "See?" he asked. "See?" She saw.

She saw Abigail, on her knees, pleading for her life. She saw the spreading pool of Dr. Chilton's dark red blood beneath him on a dirty interrogation room floor. She saw the councilman from the park, his organs arranged artfully over a picnic blanket covering the open cavity of his chest and abdomen. Her mind ran through them like she watched a slideshow, but real; she knew she could reach out and touch each victim at any time in her mind. It felt so very real. She could not focus on anything around her as she saw them again and again.

She excused herself from Hannibal's dinner table yet again and speed-walked to his bathroom. She flung open the door and fell to her knees in front of the porcelain basin, where she vomited the dinner Hannibal had cooked for her. She closed the lid and flushed, then rubbed the back of her palm against her sour mouth. She felt sweat drip down her forehead, which she then rested against the lid of the cool bowl. She began to cry.

Alana heard the door open behind her. Hannibal knelt beside her on the floor.

He brushed back her hair and kissed her sweaty neck. Then he sang, "je, liuliai dukreli, liuliai rūteli, užmik, mano aušrela, užmik, mano gėlala."

His voice soothed her quickly beating heart. The lulling timbre of his voice washed over her, and her heart beat slowed and steadied. She took one shaky deep breath, followed by a steadier one. Then another. She listened to him sing, feeling his soft breath tickle her neck.

He sang, "je, liuliai dukreli, liuliai aušreli, užmik, mano saulala, užmik mano vyšnela." Then he too took a deep, shaky, but steadying breath.

She turned from the toilet and pressed herself against Hannibal. "Beautiful." She let out a small hiccupping sob. 'Thank you."

"Hush, my girl, hush, my rue." He rubbed her back with one wide, strong palm.

Alana sighed. "Did you sing that to Mischa?"

He stiffened. Neither of them had mentioned his sister since the day he'd showed her his sister's picture. She knew it pained him still, the loss of his sister, who was brutalized and murdered. She didn't know the details, nor did she want to know them. All she knew and needed to know was that part of Hannibal's innocence was stolen the day his sister was killed. The strange man she knew both intimately and not at all was in large part the result of that traumatizing act against his kin.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she apologized repeatedly.

"It's fine, Alana. I just haven't talked about her to anyone in my long life." He sighed, and then added gently, "Nor do I want to."

She nodded. He helped her to her feet. She brushed her teeth and then kissed him for a long time until she was out of breath. Then she kissed him again.

She thought about the lullaby he sang to her. She kissed away the questions on her tongue, questions about his sister, yes, but also, questions of "Have you ever thought of children?"

It wasn't appropriate to ask such questions at this stage in their relationship. They were still relatively new. Yet she had known him for years, had ached for him, desired him, yearned for him for years. Her proverbial maternal clock ticked. His sweet lullaby had woken something inside her. The deaths had woken it too; her body and mind wanted to create new to combat the death that lingered around them.

She kissed him again, wondering what he would be like as a father. She let him lead her to bed, where she made love to him. Then she fell asleep in his arms.

That night, she dreamt of a little girl between her mother and father on Hannibal's piano bench. Hannibal guided the small girl's hands to play Chopsticks, while Alana laughed at their little daughter.

* * *

Hannibal sings Veronika Povilionienė's "Liuliai dukrelį" to Alana.

My poor, naive Alana. Should she pursue this topic further with Hannibal?


	9. Missing You

**Title:** Missing You, Day 9 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** nc-17  
**Author's Note:** My muse is taking me to strange places, y'all. Forgive me.

* * *

Alana had been gone for all of one day, and he missed her already.

She was at a psychiatry conference in Philadelphia. She'd gone with his (unneeded but appreciated) blessing of course, unspoken promises that he would take care of Will, and spoken assurances to check in on Applesauce and consult on her most recent case with Jack. But he missed her already. He found his newfound dependence on Alana disturbing, and he turned it over in his mind, feeling it, then tasting it. It tasted sweet and bitter at the same time. He was not used to relying on anyone. Or caring about anyone. He called Will his friend, but he had no qualms about manipulating or indeed terminating the friendship or Will if it served his greater purpose. Alana seemed to fall outside of the rules; his purpose in life, his mission, all seemed to fall by the wayside when he thought of Alana Bloom. Alana Bloom, in his bed, in his kitchen, and in his heart.

After a long day, he entered his bedroom, taking off his clothes and putting on pajama bottoms. He placed his cell phone on his bedside table. Then he lay in bed and picked up his book, Baudelaire's _Les Fleurs Du Mal_. The pages were thin, the copy vintage and well-loved. He turned over in his bed and read the familiar text, his eyes scanning over the pages. But his mind wandered.

He glanced over his shoulder at the phone. Then he turned in bed and picked up the phone, laying his book aside for the moment. He checked to make sure that the volume was on. It was.

"I could call her. I could call _her_," he thought.

Then the phone rang in his hand, Bach's _Goldberg Variations_ playing in his palm. The screen read "Alana."

He swiped his finger across the screen and placed her on speakerphone. "Hello, my dear."

"Hannibal. How are you, lover? I've missed you."

Unwittingly, he felt warmth suffuse his chest. He swallowed and answered, "I've missed you too. How is the conference?"

She started off on a story about the keynote speaker and the various presenters, before wrapping up with a synopsis of her own presentation. Ever modest, she claimed she didn't present as well as she'd have liked. Hannibal assured her that she was a talented presenter (which she was, he recalled from when she was his student).

He heard shuffling in the background as he told her about his own day, treating patients and consulting on a new case at the FBI. A flash of annoyance. "What are you doing right now?"

Her answer was unexpected, and thoroughly delightful.

"I'm touching myself," she stated baldly. Her voice dropped, smooth and sensuous, she said, "Thinking of you."

Hannibal felt a rush of blood flow to his loins. He felt almost dizzy at the rush. He pictured her, spread out on the bed, fingers between her thighs.

"Alana. I find your lack of attention to our conversation quite rude," he said, his voice sounding stern but with a teasing note in it.

"I'm sorry, Hannibal. I am being rude. I should stop."

"No, don't stop on my account." He dropped the hand not holding his phone to his groin and lightly squeezed. A groan escaped his lips. He'd never had "phone sex" before. He thought. How was this supposed to go? He paused, then asked, "What are you wearing?"

She laughed. "Nothing but a towel." Another groan on his end. "I'd just gotten out of the shower. And you?"

He responded, "Just pajama bottoms."

"That's far too much clothing if we're going to do this, Hannibal."

He put the phone down on his bed and said, "One moment, please." Then he stood and untied his bottoms, letting them drop to the floor. He sat back down on the bed. "I'm nude now, Alana."

She sighed. "Good. I want you to touch yourself like I'm touching myself."

"How are you touching yourself?" he asked, curious.

He heard her take a deep steadying breath before responding. "I'm running my hands all over my body. They're far too small, but I'm still pretending they are yours. Now I'm squeezing my nipples between my fingers."

Hannibal's hand drifted to his penis, which stood half-hard in his bedroom light. He took himself in his hand and started to stroke.

She continued. "So touch yourself like I am, Hannibal." He heard a light suckling sound on her end. "Suck your fingers. Get them all wet. Then play with your nipples, and pretend it's my hot little tongue running around them."

Oh. She was good. He followed her directions, sticking his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and licking them. Then he took his left nipple in between his fingers and played with it, first gently, then more roughly, just like she would if she'd been with him. He groaned.

"I love the sounds you make," she moaned into the phone. He trailed his nails down his chest, pretending they were hers. Then he took his penis into his hand again, now fully erect.

"My darling, I love hearing you moan," he said. He cast around in his mind for what to say next. She was a natural at this and he felt like her pupil, a reversal of their usual roles.

She must have sensed his confusion, for she said, "Tell me how you'd touch me if you were here right now."

He smiled. "If I were with you right now, Alana, I'd be between your glorious thighs. I'd be biting a path up those thighs to the place you love me best. I'd draw blood as I bit up your thighs, all the way to your sweet center."

She sighed and said, "Continue." He could hear her stroking herself in the background, steady and wet.

He continued to stroke himself as he spoke. "I'd flick my tongue out, lapping around your engorged clitoris. I'd keep going, running my tongue up and down your labial folds, up, down, and around, until I made you cry out with pleasure." He didn't know if he had any talent at "talking dirty" but he enjoyed the images that were running through his head, and by the sounds coming from the other end of the phone, she enjoyed his description.

"I'd reach up and take your breasts into my hands as I continued my ministrations. I'd squeeze and stroke, then take your nipples between my fingers and pull, just how you like." He heard her moan on the other end, and the sound of her wet strokes came faster. He stroked himself faster in response.

"I love the sweet taste of you, my dear Alana. You're so delicious. You're so beautiful." He heard her half-sigh and half-moan on the other end of the phone. "I'd lick you repeatedly until you orgasm, screaming my name." He swallowed hard. "I want to hear you scream my name now, Alana." He chanted, "Come for me. Come for me, darling."

She did, and she screamed his name just how he liked to hear her, wanton and desperate, "Hannibal!"

He jerked his hips up in response to her cry. Another handful of fast strokes and he was orgasming, spewing white strings of ejaculate on his stomach.

He grabbed a handful of tissue and wiped himself down, then deposited the dirty tissues on his side table, listening to her breathing slow on the other end of the phone.

"That was...different," she said, and laughed breathily.

"Different?" he questioned.

"Wonderful," she amended. "It was wonderful." He heard her yawn.

"You have had a long day, my dear. And now, a strenuous evening. Would you like to sleep?"

"Yes, very much so. That was truly wonderful, Hannibal. I still miss you though."

He could hear the smile in her voice, and he smiled too.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Same time, same place...same activity?" She teased.

"It would be my pleasure," he answered.

And then, suddenly-

"I love you." And then the beep as she hung up the phone before he could even process what she said, much less respond.

He lay down in his bed, and placed his hand against his heart, feeling its fast, staccato beat.


	10. Crazy

**Title:** Crazy, Day 10 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg  
**Author's Note:** I am having an attack of the fluff. Someone save me.  
This definitely follows the previous chapter, "Missing You," so you should read that before reading this.

* * *

Hannibal loved classical music, instrumental, and opera.

Alana loved music period. She loved everything. She imagined Hannibal might say she didn't have a discerning ear, but he was never so rude about her taste in music. She loved the music of her childhood, Michael Jackson and Madonna and Bruce Springsteen, R.E.M. and Sonic Youth, and (she'd blush to admit it) Dolly Parton. But she loved her mother's music too, and her grandmother's. She loved Fleetwood Mac and The Beatles and Johnny Cash. She even listened to contemporary music of all kinds. She loved music; she loved it all.

So she plugged her iPod into its speaker dock and let the music wash over her as she and Hannibal read their respective books, sitting across from each other, she curled up on her loveseat and he in her easy chair. She knew he only tolerated her music most of the time; sometimes she'd catch him with his lips pressed together and his eyes tightly closed as if in pain when certain songs came on; how Hannibal despised Lady Gaga, for example.

Patsy Cline came on. She smiled; she loved this song. So she was surprised when Hannibal spoke up.

"Alana. Would you care for a dance?"

She looked up over the cover of her book at her lover, her eyebrows raised. He smiled patiently back at her. "You want to dance…_to this_?" she questioned.

"I'd like to dance _with_ _you_," he responded.

She stood, placing her book beside her on the loveseat. He followed, standing and holding out his hand to her. She walked towards him and took his hand. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close.

She shivered in his arms. The effect he had on her frightened her at times; he intoxicated her and she felt it in every nerve of her body. She felt deliciously loose whenever he was near. Pressed against him like she was, she felt her body cry out for even more contact. She wanted to sink into him. So she did, snuggling up against Hannibal. Her body was pressed to his from hips to chest. She felt him stir against her, and knew she had the same effect on him. It made her feel powerful and womanly.

"_I'm crazy for trying, and crazy for crying, and I'm crazy for loving you._"

She wanted to say it again. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. She wanted to see his face when she said it; she wanted to see how he'd react. She'd hung up on him out of fear when she said it while she was at the conference. And she hadn't stopped thinking about it since.

But he spoke first. "You love me, Ms. Bloom." It wasn't a question, but rather a statement.

"Yes," she confirmed, not quite surprised at how well he read her.

He swallowed; she watched his Adam's apple move in his throat. "I'm not someone you should love, Alana."

She felt tears rise in her eyes unbidden, and she tried to will them away. As expected, that only made one tear slide down her cheek.

Hannibal bent his head down and kissed her cheek as the tear ran down, the tip of his tongue darting out to catch the salty tear. Then he kissed her lips, tasting of salt and a taste all Hannibal's own.

"I…care…very much about you," Hannibal whispered, uncharacteristically stumbling over the words.

She could tell that it cost him a lot to say those words. She wondered if he'd loved anyone since Mischa. She wondered then if he ever could love anyone. She pressed her lips together, then smiled.

It was enough. For now, it was enough. Alana stood on her tiptoes as the song ended, and kissed him, her moist lips dancing against his own as her body swayed with his.

She pulled away and smiled again. "Thank you for the dance."

"I've danced to your music, my dear. May we dance to mine now?" he asked, a teasing quirk on his lips.

Still tight in his arms, she threw back her head and laughed. She freed herself from his arms and switched her iPod from shuffle to her classical playlist. He held his hand out to her, and she walked over to Hannibal, taking his hand. He pulled her to him, flush against his body.

And they danced.

For tonight, that was enough.

* * *

The song they dance to is "Crazy" by Patsy Cline.

As always, I want to hear what you think. Especially since the fluff should be foreign to these two and I'm not sure if it's working. Oy.


	11. Tight Quarters

**Title:** Tight Quarters, Day 12 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** nc-17  
**Author's notes: **I was asked to do a follow-up to shower voyeur Hannibal, so here it is.  
And written on my new iPad too, gasp!

* * *

Alana listened to the shower in her otherwise quiet house. It was a rare occasion: Hannibal was spending the night at her place. She'd cooked for him and they'd spent the evening curled up in her love seat, conversing and kissing. Now Hannibal was in the shower. Alana stood and walked to the bathroom. She peeked in.

The water and glass of her shower distorted his body; he was a blur behind the shower door. Still, she stood entranced, watching his shape move. She wanted to join him, but would he find that rude?

"I can see you, Ms. Bloom," he called out to her.

She laughed, and made a quick decision. She stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Shedding her clothes quickly, she opened the shower door and stepped in to the rush of water. She shut the shower door behind her, which left her pressed up against one very warm, very wet, very naked Hannibal. They were so close.

"Well, I caught you watching me shower once. Now we're even, Steven."

His mouth quirked. "I didn't rudely interrupt your shower when I watched."

She smiled innocently up at Hannibal. "Oh, do you want me to go then?" She turned to leave the shower, bumping up against his chest with her elbow. He winced and grabbed her around the hips.

"I don't want you to leave," he growled against her neck, making her shiver. "Your shower quarters are quite tight though, my dear."

She backed herself up against him, swaying her hips and feeling him grow against her at the top of her behind. "You're not making a good case for me staying," she teased. He groaned against her neck, and she felt the vibration of it all the way down her body. She bit her lip and stopped her swaying, turning in his arms.

The water beat down upon them and the steam rose in delicate tendrils around their bodies. She breathed in the steam, letting the heat warm her insides. Never before had she been grateful for her tiny shower; the one downfall of her quaint and comfy home was its small size. But now she found herself grateful because she found herself unable to move much with two people in her shower. And being unable to move when pressed up against Hannibal Lecter was a very good thing, in Alana's opinion. She wriggled in his arms, loving how he groaned and growled when her every move caused her body to rub up against his; she could feel the very electricity in the air between them and knew he felt it too.

He leaned down and kissed her, taking her bottom lip between his teeth. He bit lightly and then sucked, and she moaned into his mouth. His hands moved up and down her sides, fingertips dancing a random teasing path on her body.

She reached between them and grasped his burgeoning erection, her own fingertips moving lightly and teasing. He stopped his own movements on her sides and reached up and grasped her long hair, pulling lightly to turn her head to the side. When he bit her neck hard, she squeezed his erection in her hand and started to stroke it firmly. He licked her aching neck and said, "Good girl."

His hands reached behind her as he started to suck lower where he could leave marks, at her collarbone and on her breasts. He found a bar of soap and started to massage her body with it. Her giggle turned into a moan as the slippery bar moved in his firm hands from her back to her breasts. He rubbed the bar of soap over them, then down her belly, to her mons. He let the bar of soap drop from his fingers, where it slid on the floor to land next to the drain. His hands massaged her soapy breasts, then traced the same path as the bar of soap down her body. As he pulled her closer to him, the warm water rinsed the soap off her body. It felt wonderful, the combination of the water's heat and her own heat in response to Hannibal's touches.

Her own hand dropped from his cock to land against her thigh when his fingers found her clitoris. He massaged her clit as his lips found her nipple. He licked and sucked her nipple and breast, then switched to the other side. His fingers continued their nimble work against her center, where he slid one, then two slippery fingers inside her.

Alana moved against him, riding his fingers inside her body as his thumb made sure circles around her clitoris. Over and over he moved and she moved too. She felt delirious from the heat. Her own breath came out in hot gasps. Soon she threw her head back and cried out, coming against Hannibal's hand.

She felt her knees loosen and she slid down the wall of her shower. Hannibal stared down at her, his eyes expressing concern. She simply took his erection into her hand, then her mouth. She expertly licked and sucked, her mouth moving around his thick cock. With a groan, he fisted handfuls of her hair and started fucking her mouth. She loved when he lost control of himself this way, and she obligingly slackened her mouth and jaw. She looked up at him, staring at his tightly shut eyes, his clenched jaw. She moved her eyes down his body, which was long and lean. Alana watched his muscles move as he moved inside her mouth. He grabbed her head and held her in place as he came, shooting warm trickles of semen down her throat.

Alana swallowed most of it, then let some trickle out of her mouth. She watched it run down her drain, then smiled up at Hannibal.

He had a strange look on his face. For a moment, Alana felt deeply troubled. But then he smiled his brilliant smile.

"You captivate me, Alana," he stated as simply as if he were telling her the time of day or the color of the sky; he said it as fact.

He reached down and pulled her to her feet, turned off the water, and then helped her from the shower. When he wrapped a big towel around her, she thought she had never felt so at home.


	12. Bon Anniversaire

**Title:** Bon Anniversaire, Day 13 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing: **Hannibloom  
**Rating:** r  
**Author's notes:** This is meant to be slightly, just slightly crack-y and fun. So.

* * *

Thirty six. She couldn't believe she was celebrating her thirty-sixth birthday.

Though, "celebrate" was not the right term. She did not plan on celebrating. In fact, she planned on avoiding the words 'happy,' 'birthday,' and 'congratulations' if at all possible. And God help the man who asked her in a sing-song voice, "How old are you now?"

Alana Bloom did not do birthdays. Especially not as she got older and older, and less and less married, pregnant, and/or famous in her field.

Not that she was even sure she wanted those things. She reflected on her life as she taught her first class of the day, grateful that no student knew what dreaded day today was.

Sometimes she pictured Hannibal presenting her with a ring. Sometimes she pictured Hannibal with a small, crying bundle in his arms. Sometimes she pictured a future and now, it always included Hannibal. She thought wryly that this was progress; in the past, her fantasies had included faceless males with very good bodies. Or Will. At least this time her fantasies included a lifetime relationship with a real, _sane_ man.

For the rest of the day, she cringed every time she entered a room, worried that someone might surprise her for her "special day." Blushing, she quickly deleted a voicemail message from her mother, glancing around her to make sure no one heard her mother belt out the birthday song. When she made it through the workday with only her mother's message of "Happy birthday," she considered it a success.

But she'd forgotten about Hannibal.

He knew her birthday, and she wondered what was in store for her when she went to his house.

"At least he won't have streamers and balloons," she thought as she drove to his house.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He did not have streamers and balloons. He didn't even have a cake. What he did have was…

"Mac and cheese?"

"You asked me once whether I knew how to cook anything simple, like your favorite. This is me proving that I can oblige," he commented, as he presented her a plate. "Petit basque with roasted garlic, prosciutto, and gemeli."

"Only you can make mac and cheese so fancy, Hannibal." She took a tentative bite. It was creamy and cheesy, with the delicate smoky taste of the prosciutto mixing wonderfully with the mildly nutty flavor of the cheese. "Oh, and so delicious."

When they were finished with dinner, he cleared the table, imploring her to stay seated. She waited for him to return. When he did, he stood behind her, running his hands through her hair, down to her shoulders. He gave her a massage. Afterwards, she stood to kiss him, and he bent her forcefully over the table.

He growled in her ear as he hiked her dress up to her waist. "You told me once that you'd like me to…fuck you…in my dining room. This is me proving that I will oblige." She shivered at his use of the word "fuck," for she'd never heard him swear. It turned her on. She moaned as his fingers shoved aside her panties, and he groaned as he found her wet, ready for him. He fucked her against the table and she screamed out in pleasure, one of her fantasies fulfilled.

She took a shower next, and climbed into his bed, clean, warm, and content. She thought that perhaps Hannibal had given her the best birthday yet. She waited for him to return from his own shower, and while she waited, she dozed.

Soon she heard him enter the room, and sit on the bed. She heard him shuffle, opening the drawer of his bedside table. A minute later, she felt the cool and light weight of a chain draped around her neck.

She opened her eyes. Alana grasped the pendant in her hand and pulled it gently from her neck.

It was gorgeous. She stared at the large sapphire, her favorite royal shade of blue. It was surrounded by white and black diamonds in brackets of intricately shaped vines and flowers.

Hannibal stared at her, then lowered his eyes when he spoke. "It was my mother's. She sent it to her sister for keeping before she…passed away. When it was returned to me, I didn't believe I would ever find someone to give it to." He sounded almost shy when he asked, "Do you like it?"

She felt tears form in her eyes. "I love it. Hannibal, I love it." She grasped his chin and pulled his mouth to hers. She kissed him, her tongue darting out to moisten his lips. He sighed, his warm breath heating her mouth. He pulled away and smiled at her.

"Happy birthday, Alana."

Indeed, Hannibal had given her the best birthday ever. She smiled as she touched the pendant, knowing that she'd wear it daily, smiling every time she touched it and thought of her lover.


	13. Death that Lives in Love

**Title: **Death that Lives in Love, Day 14 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom: **Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating: **pg-13  
**Author's Note:** A super short fill today, but I hope you like it!

* * *

Hannibal got the call at 4:08 pm on Tuesday. He answered the phone, "Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

"Hannibal, it's Alana." She sounded exhausted and her voice had a sharp edge to it; he tasted it and found it oddly delicious on his tongue. Pain. She was in pain. He took in a quick, deep breath. His Alana was hurt.

"What happened, my dear?"

She didn't ask how he knew. Instead she started to cry. Between sobs she told him, "I got in a car accident. I shattered my knee. It hurts so bad. They're doing surgery tonight. Can you come?"

He entered her hospital room. In one arm he had a vase of Alexandre Girault pink roses, in the other, he held two tomes of French poetry.

She lay on the hospital bed, her left leg in a cast from toe to thigh. Her leg was elevated in a sling. She looked smaller, shrunken from tiredness and the earlier agony of her injury. He walked to her and kissed her cheek. "My darling. Even injured, you look gorgeous." Indeed she did. Her hair was a mess of curls framing her face, not the careful coif she normally maintained. Her cheeks were flushed. She had fear in her eyes, and though it was not fear of him, Hannibal still relished the sight of another's fear. He could smell it too, even over the aromatic perfume of the roses and the harsh antiseptic reek of the hospital. He loved the scent of fear.

He placed the vase on the ledge by her window. The artificial lights shone on the roses; Hannibal did not like the cheap fluorescent glow, and moved them into shadow. That was better.

"The surgery went well. It hurt so badly though, oh," she sighed.

He turned. There were tears swimming in her big eyes. "How did it happen?" he asked.

"He just came out of nowhere. They said he was drunk," she spat out.

Hannibal felt anger boiling inside of him, such a distasteful emotion in himself.

"His name?"

"Marcus. Hal Marcus."

Hannibal nodded. The foolish Mr. Marcus might find himself a victim of he Chesapeake Ripper soon. The drunk was certainly a drain on society, and he had hurt Alana. His meat would not go to waste, however.

"I'm so tired, Hannibal." She nodded her head towards his arm, where he still held the books he had brought her. "Will you read to me?"

"Of course." He sat in the uncomfortable chair next to her bed. Placing one book beside her on the bedside table, he opened the other book of poetry and began to read. "Vous demandez si l'amour rend heureuse; Il le promet, croyez-le, fût-ce un jour. Ah! pour un jour d'existence amoureuse, Qui ne mourrait? la vie est dans l'amour." He watched her eyes close, then open, then close again as she listened to the soothing tone of his voice reciting Desbordes-Valmore.

From behind him, he smelled that unfortunate cologne again, the cheap cologne with a ship on the bottle.

He stood, then bent down and kissed the dozing Alana on the forehead. "Sleep soundly, my dear. I love you."

He turned and greeted Will, whose eyes were narrowed. On Will he tasted rage, and he savored it.

* * *

You should be asking yourself: Did Hannibal say it just because Will could hear? Hmmm.

My Hannibal loves the poem "L'Amour." (It's referenced in my story, "Nine Months." Look it up, it's lovely...the poem, not my story!)


	14. Carry You

**Title: **Carry You, Day 15 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating: **pg-13  
**Author's notes: **This does follow the previous chapter.  
Day 15- I can't believe I've made it halfway through, oh my gosh!

* * *

She was set to be released from the hospital a week later. She refused to go to a nursing home for her recovery. She pondered her options: she could ask her day nurse for a live-in referral, or perhaps ask her mother to take an extended visit from Canada, or…

"Would you stay with me, while I recover? I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you, Hannibal. I'll have a nurse during the day while you consult and see patients. But at night…"

Hannibal answered in her pause. "Of course, my dear."

She smiled up at him and said, "Then take me home."

When they got to Alana's house, Hannibal helped her out of the car and into her shiny new wheelchair. Then they both just stopped and stared.

"We forgot…" he started.

"…the steps," she finished.

He looked down at Alana and nodded. He walked away and opened her door with the keys she'd provided. When he walked back over to her, he stated, "Well, then it's clear what I need to do." And before she could stop him, he reached down and hooked one strong arm around her back and another under her legs, moving surely but carefully around the cast-covered leg. She gasped as she felt herself lifted into the air with a whoosh.

He walked up the steps, carrying her as easily as if she were a doll. Sometimes she was astounded at his unassuming strength; this was one of those times. He carried her over the threshold of her home.

"That's not the way I pictured it," she remarked.

"Pictured what, my dear?"

"You, carrying me over the threshold. Like we're married."

She watched as his jaw clenched, and she mentally kicked herself. She'd upset him. They hadn't yet talked about a future together, and she had to blurt out a statement about marriage. "Good job, Alana," she thought.

He placed her on her love seat. He walked away without a word, climbing her stairs. He returned with an armful of pillows and blankets. Covering her with a blanket, he placed a pillow behind her back, then fluffed another and put it under her left leg to elevate it. She felt some of the pressure on her knee alleviate, and she sighed. "Hannibal…"

"Let me get you settled, Alana. Then we will talk."

He walked out her front door and returned with her hospital bags. Next he brought in her folded up wheelchair. Then he closed the door and locked it behind him.

He settled himself into her easy chair, then placed one hand on his chin, staring at her. He looked like he was contemplating an interesting patient in his office, or perhaps even an intriguing specimen in the lab. She waited for him to speak, but he continued to look at her. Alana knew this was a tactic to get her to speak first, and she also knew she would give in. So she did.

"I heard you tell me you loved me, in the hospital." She paused, swallowing a mouth full of spit that accumulated from her anxiety. "You thought that I was sleeping. Did you just say it because Will was there?"

Hannibal smiled, perhaps proud of her astute observation. "Partially, yes. However, I have lately found myself…feeling love for you."

Alana felt like her heart might burst, it felt so full. She stayed still for moments, feeling the steady but quickening beat of her heart. He loved her.

"Why did you become so tense when I mentioned marriage? If you love me? Do you…see a future with me?" She spit out the words as she felt tears forming in her eyes. She blamed the stress of the break and the hospital stay for her delicate emotions. She knew he'd understand if she cried, but she didn't want to. She tried to will the tears away, and for the moment, was successful.

"You want a fantasy that doesn't exist in my world, Ms. Bloom. White picket fences and two to three squalling children do not suit me. Do they really suit you?"

One tear dropped down her cheek, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand and whispered, "I don't know."

Hannibal scooted his chair closer to her and took her hands in his. "I could never be the one you want. Don't ask that of me, Alana."

"I'm still carrying a little hope that maybe things could get different. Is that so wrong?"

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I love you, Alana. There may be a future for us, it just might not look like you'd hoped. Is that not enough, my darling?"

She smiled and answered, "It's enough." And for now, it was. More than enough. He was wrong; he was exactly what she wanted.

She wondered what a future with Hannibal Lecter would look like in his mind. Years of good food, fine opera, hard work, and travel. She assumed he'd at least marry her. But she might want a child. She loved the mental image she had of a little girl with Hannibal wrapped around her finger. Would he ever want a child with her?

But she felt like she'd pushed him enough for one day, and she was tired.

"Take me to bed, Hannibal."

He picked her up again, and carried her up her stairs. He placed her in her bed and spooned her. Then he made love to her, being careful moving around her cast. When she climaxed, she cried out, "Oh, I love you!" And she felt so free, free to finally say it, and know he felt it too. She didn't even need to hear him say it; she could feel it in every movement, every look he gave her, every little thing he did for her. Lately, his very being cried out his love for her.

But she was still glad when she heard him whisper against her sex-sweaty neck, "I love you too, numylėtinė."

* * *

This has some lyrics from the song "Carry You" by Jimmy Eat World. I just borrowed them, no infringement intended.


	15. I am Destroyer, I am Lover

**Title: **I am Destroyer, I am Lover, Day 16 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** r  
**Author's notes: **I guess people didn't like my last chapter very much? I feel a bit sad about that, and wonder why. Well, if it helps, we're back to a darker, more manipulative Hannibal this chapter…  
**WARNING:** GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE.

* * *

It started like any other day. She woke up to the sound of her alarm on her phone, the mimic of chirping birds. She stretched and snoozed the alarm once. When her alarm went off again, she sighed and stretched her arms above her head, arching her back off her bed. Then she swung her legs off her bed and sat up, then stood, heading to her shower.

Often, Hannibal called her in the morning while she showered. There would be a voicemail message on her phone from him when she got out of the shower. Sometimes, he'd recite a poem for her, or ask her for her opinion on a paper he was writing. Sometimes, he'd just leave her a promise to see her later, sometimes even telling her not to bring lunch because he'd be consulting at the FBI and he'd planned to bring her his cooking. He did not approve of her eating fast food or plain sandwiches she'd throw together on a rushed morning.

She relished every message from him.

When she got out of the shower that morning, she checked her phone, but there was no missed call and no voicemail message. It did not cause her to pause; after all, it was not every morning that Hannibal left her a message, and she was not worried.

Later, she'd chastise herself harshly. Even though by the time she'd have worried about him not calling her during her shower, it would already be too late.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She taught her morning class, then had lunch with her colleague, Dr. Amelia Granville. Next came her afternoon class. As she walked the hall to class, her phone rang. She smiled, assuming Hannibal was calling, but when she looked at her phone, she saw that it was Jack Crawford. She answered the call.

"Dr. Bloom, we have a new Ripper case. This appears to be an unusual one, and Will is requesting you consult."

"Will is requesting that _I_ consult? Do I need to cancel my afternoon class? Why isn't Dr. Lecter consulting?"

"Yes, please. We have been unable to reach Dr. Lecter this morning."

A small trickle of fear crept into Alana's throat. She swallowed. He just had a patient. Right?

"I'm just going to go inform my students and then I'll head to the lab."

She printed off a quick notice that class was cancelled and posted it outside of her classroom door. Then she walked to her car while calling Hannibal. She called thrice, but he didn't answer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She walked into the lab and the reek of burning flesh accosted her, like meat charred on a grill. As she moved closer to the exam table, she saw that that was precisely what was on the table: a human kabob. Cubes of human meat on a giant charred stick.

She gagged. Will turned to her and silently handed her a jar of VapoRub. She gratefully accepted the jar and opened it, then rubbed some of the white cream under her nostrils. She inhaled tentatively; the scent of the barely recognizable body was covered by the pungent chemical scent of the VapoRub. Still, she could see the human kabob, and that was bad enough.

"This isn't like the other Ripper victims," she stated.

Will confirmed her claim. "No, it's not. This is…a waste. The Ripper doesn't usually waste his meat."

"Then how do we know it's a Ripper victim at all?" Jack asked.

Brian Zeller answered. "The Ripper takes his victim's organs. This victim's thymus and pancreas are gone, the sweetbreads are gone, as is the liver and heart. He left this one at a campground." He paused. "Will says it is the Ripper."

Will stood silent, his eyes closed. Alana watched him, waiting for one of his astute, out-of-nowhere observations about the killer. Meanwhile, she asked, "Do we know the identity of the victim?"

"Price couldn't get prints. We're waiting on dental. He should be here any moment with the results," Jack told her.

Will spoke up. "This was an offering. From the Ripper to…a lover. He is offering this meat...as a feast," he spit out the last. He looked pointedly at her. Was he implying that this offering was for her? Did he still believe Hannibal to be the Chesapeake Ripper?

"It's not…" she started to angrily object, but then Jimmy Price rushed into the room, carrying a file. He scurried to Jack's side and whispered in his ear. Jack grabbed the file from Price and opened it. His eyes moved quickly down the page. Alana watched him read it, then re-read it. Jack paled, then stared at Alana. Price stared at her too. Their eyes read pity.

"What?"

"Alana. The victim. It's Hannibal Lecter."

She backed away from the table, nearly tripping over her own feet. "No. No!" she cried out. She turned and ran from the room, pulling her phone from her purse. She held it like a lifeline as she called Hannibal. She listened to the ringing with rising panic; again, he didn't answer. She called again. And again. No answer.

She pulled her keys from her purse too, and ran from the building to her car. "It can't be him," she thought desperately. But she kept seeing the body in chunks on the exam table. She pictured her love's smooth thighs, his strong arms, his hairy chest, all butchered and charred.

When she reached her car, she bent over and vomited on the concrete. Then she drove the long drive to Hannibal's house.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When she reached Hannibal's house, she was weak. She nearly had to crawl up his steps because her legs felt so weak. But her arms were strong as she pounded on his door. She forced herself to stand tall. Pound, pound, pound. But there was no answer and the lights were off. She screamed, "Hannibal! Hannibal, please!" Still, there was no answer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal Lecter stood on the other side of the door, listening to Alana. Should he continue his charade? "No," he thought, "She is distraught enough."

He opened the door. Alana paused with her hand raised. Then she shrieked and threw herself at him. She pounded his hard chest with a now weak fist. Then she brought her arms around his body, holding him tight. She sobbed.

"What happened, my darling? What happened?" He asked, his voice resonating tones of puzzlement.

"You were dead! You…" her voice trailed off; she couldn't continue speaking. She sobbed even harder.

Hannibal held the sobbing Alana Bloom against his body. She clutched at him like he might disappear at any moment if she didn't hold on tightly enough. He smiled as he patted her heaving back; his plan had worked. Alana was now even more attached to him. Every move he made brought her closer to being his-his lover, and most importantly, his tool–forever.

* * *

Be very afraid of a Hannibal Lecter "in love." Anyways, since I love naming my stories after songs, the title of this one comes from "Death to Death" by Stars. 


	16. Sing for Me

**Title:** Sing for Me, Day 17 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** nc-17  
**Author's notes:** I just wanted to shout out again to the wonderful charlotteof_denmark. We've been writing these prompts together, so if you haven't, you should check out her fills too. That is all.

* * *

He'd half-carried her to his bathroom, putting her in his big tub, where he'd washed her hair and back like a child. Alana kept reaching for him, as if to confirm he was really there. She reminded Hannibal of Mischa in that moment, Mischa in her baby copper bathtub, her star-shaped hands reaching for him as he washed her much finer, blonde hair. He had a moment of regret for the turmoil he'd put Alana through. But only a moment.

After her bath, he carried her to his bed, where he placed her under warm covers, her damp hair making patterns on his pillow. He brought her tea, blood orange and cinnamon. If he slipped something into her tea, Lorazepam to send her into a nightmareless sleep, he couldn't be blamed. He sat in the corner of his room, reading, while she slept. Her sleep was not restless, and for that, Hannibal was pleased with himself.

He was reading Manobla's _Zagare_, finding it overly sentimental, when he felt her eyes on him. He lowered his book and stared back at her. Her eyes had dark circles under them, almost he color of bruises. She looked haunted. He put down his book and walked to the bed, circling it. Then he crawled into the bed, hovering over her. She stared at him, hungrily taking in every detail of his face.

"I'm here," he reassured her. He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head away at the last moment. His lips brushed her jaw instead. He took a deep breath.

"You're angry with me," he stated. "Do you plan on telling me why, per chance?"

The smallest, almost imperceptible shake of her head gave him his answer. He kissed her jaw, biting after each kiss. She stayed silent despite his efforts. He moved to her neck, and bit harder. Then he sucked the skin of her neck into his mouth, deliberately leaving a mark, something he never did in such a visible location. He leaned back, waiting for her to chastise him for his rudeness. All he saw was the slightest clench of her jaw. He watched the suck mark bruise form on her alabaster skin. Then he did it again, bit, then sucked, leaving mark after mark on her neck.

She didn't say a word. He sat back and removed the covers from her body. He watched her exposed skin erupt in goose pimples, her nipples hardening in the chill of the night air.

If you won't talk to me, Alana, I will make you sing for me." He leaned over her again, and pinned her wrists beneath his. He soothed her visibly aching neck with his lips and his tongue as he pressed his body against hers. The simple artistry of her naked form never failed to excite him, and he could feel himself growing hard. He thrust his hips against hers, letting her feel his hardness growing against her core.

He reached up and grasped her chin in his hand, turning it roughly towards him, so that she was looking him in the eye. He saw a modicum of fear pass through her eyes, and he felt his erection grow at the sight of her fear. He bent his head towards her, then kissed her. His kisses started gentle, small touches of his lips to hers, his tongue darting out to taste her. Then he nudged her lips apart with his tongue. She opened to him willingly enough.

He explored her mouth with his tongue. He growled when she refused to respond. He felt her shudder beneath him in response to his growl.

"I want to hear you, dearest. I want to listen to you." He bit her lip and pulled. Still, she stayed quiet.

He got off her abruptly. She didn't even look at him when he did so. He removed his clothes in fluid motions, then lay beside her on the bed. He kissed her again, this time making his way down her body. He trailed kissed down her sternum, then to her breasts. He took his time with each breast, alternating his rough hands and smooth tongue over each breast and hardened nipple. She tasted like his fine French soap and the sweet taste of her own skin. He relished the taste that was all Alana.

His other hand trailed down her body to her center. He dipped a finger briefly inside her, and found her exceedingly wet. He rubbed his own erection against her hip as he sucked her nipple, trailing his own wetness on her. His fingers moved slippery circles around her clitoris.

She was more than ready, but still, he continued his ministrations for more time. Her back arched off of the bed once, but he quickly pulled his hand away when it did. He waited for her to cry out in frustration, but she stayed silent.

So Hannibal crawled on top of her, again pinning her wrists in his hands. She liked being held down, and he obliged. He kneed her legs apart, and entered her swiftly. He bit back his own groan of pleasure as he felt her walls flutter around him, accommodating his girth.

He grasped one of her legs and pulled it up, holding it high as he thrust inside of her. He started out maddeningly slow, then sped up his thrusts. He could feel his own orgasm building inside of his scrotum, but he focused completely on her. Hannibal watched as the skin of her chest flushed, watched as her eyes rolled back in her head, and felt her vagina begin to tighten around his penis.

He abruptly pulled out of her. He had to bite his own lip to keep from screaming out. His erection shone with their commingled juices, nearly purple in the cool air.

How she managed to stay silent on the verge of orgasm was beyond his comprehension, and there was little Hannibal Lecter did not comprehend.

He waited a few moments, watching the flush start to fade from her chest. Then he waited even longer. He wanted her to no longer be so close to completion, but still close enough.

He maneuvered himself so his face was between her legs. He let her feel his warm breath on her vagina. Then he pulled his face away and replaced it with his hands. His hand massaged her entire genital region, yet avoided her clitoris. He dipped two fingers inside of her, hooking them inside of her. He moved them back and forth across the raised spot inside of her.

"Hannnnn…"

He looked up at her. She was resolutely looking anywhere but at him. Had he imagined it?

He pulled his fingers out, then grasped her hips, his fingers turning into claws that he dug into her skin. He lowered his mouth and stuck his tongue inside of her, thrusting the muscle as deep inside of her as he could. Then he ran his tongue up to her clitoris, circling it. Finally, he took the nub into his mouth, and sucked.

She screamed. "Fuck! Oh, I hate you love you loveyou!"

He licked her once more, tasting her juices as they flowed out of her from the strength of her orgasmic muscle contractions. So sweet. He felt her shudder beneath his mouth, and he smiled.

Pulling away, he spoke. "Good girl, Ms. Bloom. Good girl."

He sat up, moving beside her on the bed. He waited until she recovered from her orgasm, then spoke.

"Now, tell me how I have angered you, Alana."

"I thought you were _dead_! You didn't answer your phone!" She grasped at him like she had when she'd first arrived at his house, desperate. He wrapped his strong arms around her and held her while she cried.

Said Hannibal, "I'm sorry, my love."

But he wasn't.


	17. Sonó un Beso

**Title: **Sonó un Beso, Day 18 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom: **Hannibal  
**Pairing: **Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg  
**Author's notes: **Are you following me on tumblr yet? Why not? Go follow me so I can follow you back! I'm 823freckles.

* * *

"Alanaaaaa!"

Alana stopped stirring the cup of tea she was preparing for Hannibal and winced. "I'll be there in a moment!" she called back.

She sighed. Hannibal was sick, and he was being, in Alana's opinion, a giant baby about it. He had a cold, but he was acting like he was dying of something incurable and intolerably sufferable. He claimed that he never got sick, and he was sure acting like it.

Alana stirred a spoonful of honey into his tea. Then she grabbed a book from a shelf downstairs, then walked up the stairs to Hannibal's bedroom.

He lay in bed, his head propped up on two thick pillows. The covers were pulled up to his chin. Next to the bed was a wastebasket, filled to the brim with tissues. Alana placed the steaming cup of tea next to him on the bedside table, then picked up the waste basket to empty it. He sniffed, his nose obviously red and sore. "Thank you." It came out like "dane kou." Alana smiled to herself. If she were being honest with herself, she liked her role of nursemaid. It reminded her of medical school in a way, being a grunt, caring for the sick. And it was Hannibal, and she loved him. She didn't like seeing him not feeling well, but conversely, it was amusing to see him one down, needing her in such a way.

When she returned from emptying his wastebasket, she climbed into bed with him. His tea stood untouched and cooling on the table. "Are you going to drink your tea?" She asked him.

"I can't smell it. I can't smell anything," he complained. His voice was slurry and congested with sick. His eyes were rimmed red, it made him look strangely both demonic and angelic at the same time. Alana felt a surge of affection in her heart for her man. She knew how much his sense of smell mattered to him. His sense of smell was amazingly precise; he could even smell patients at times and know their affliction, a trick that came in handy both in school and in practice.

She leaned over him and carefully lifted the cup of tea. She inhaled, and said, "It smells of jasmine, dry, and camomile. I added some honey for sweetness. Now drink." She lifted the cup to his lips and he sipped it obediently.

He swallowed, then stared at her. He looked so grateful that Alana felt uncomfortable. "You baby," she called him with affection to break the mood.

"That was rude, Ms. Bloom," he chastised her.

Once she figured out what he said, she responded, "I know. I'm sorry, sick-o. I like taking care of you."

He quickly lifted a tissue to his nose and mouth and sneezed. Once he deposited the used tissue in the trash, Alana nuzzled him.

"Don't. I don't want you to…sniffle…get sick."

She shushed him, and moved even closer. She could feel him stiffen against her, then finally, he relaxed. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead, then picked up the book she'd placed down. He noticed it for the first time, and asked her what book she had brought.

"Rimas. Bécquer. Spanish poetry for a change."

She started to read. When she got to "Sólo sé que nos volvimos los dos a un tiempo, y nuestros ojos se hallaron ¡y sonó un beso!" she stopped to give him a kiss on his cheek. Then she continued. "Creación de Dante era el libro; era su Infierno…"

She watched as Hannibal closed his eyes and listened to the soothing lilt of her voice. When she finished the book, she closed it. Hannibal opened his eyes and spoke.

"I want to take you away. Have you been to Spain? I imagine you would…achoo! I imagine you would be enamored of it. Next week. Come with me, my dear."

Alana took a minute to puzzle out what he said; it was hard to understand him with his cold and his accent combined. It sounded like he said, "I wan tage ou way. Hab ou beem to Spame? I imabgin ou woolbe namour ub it." Alana couldn't help but giggle. She placed the back of her hand on Hannibal's forehead. "You don't feel like you're running a fever, yet you're speaking as if you're delirious."

She started to pull her hand away and he captured it in his. He kissed the back of her hand, then turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her wrist. "I am not delirious. Will you come with me?" He looked up at her, his lips still hovering over her wrist.

She thought he was crazy. She loved it. "Yes." And a kiss was heard.

* * *

Next up: Spain? :D


	18. La Seducción de Santiago

**Title:** La Seducción de Santiago, Day 19 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom: **Hannibal  
**Pairing: **Hannibloom  
**Rating:** r  
**Author's notes:** I may have a minor in Spanish, but admittedly, my Spanish sucks. So if you see something that needs correcting here, please tell me so that I may fix it! Thanks!

* * *

After two transfers and sixteen hours on multiple planes, Alana stepped out of the airport and took in the sunshine and the light wind. She sighed; she was so grateful to finally be able to stretch her legs. Hannibal exited the airport behind her, looking unruffled. She leaned down and touched her toes. When she stood back up, the blood rushed from her head, and she stumbled. Hannibal caught her. "Careful, my dear."

She smiled, abashed, and asked, "Shall we hail a taxi?"

He answered, "No, we have a private driver." He pointed to a sleek black town car. Alana gaped. After flying first class from Baltimore to Santiago de Compostela (she didn't even want to know how much that had cost him), now they had a private driver? Hannibal was going all out.

She shook her head as he led her to the car. "I don't…I don't deserve all of this."

He turned to her and frowned. "You deserve it all, Alana. You deserve the world." He spread his arms. "I am doing my best to give you a piece of it."

Her heart filled with such love for the man in front of her. She felt like her smile might just fall off her face because it was so huge. Hannibal smiled back at her, and kissed her lightly on the lips. Their driver took their bags and Hannibal opened the back car door for her. She got in the car. Then she watched the city rush past her behind tinted windows as they drove to their hotel.

When they were finally alone in their hotel room, Alana threw herself down on the bed. "Shall we christen it?" she asked him playfully. He climbed over her, kissing her lips and neck.

"Aren't you famished?" he asked her.

She tilted her hips up and ground them against him. "Famished," she confirmed with a whisper and a moan. He growled but got off of her. She was disappointed, but he looked almost pained when he said, "I have dinner reservations."

She was tempted to tell him to cancel, but she was very hungry. So she got off the bed and changed into her favorite red dress. She knew he was watching her change with hunger in his eyes, and she shivered when he zipped up her dress, his nimble fingers dancing on her back. She tried to think of dinner and not Hannibal on top of her as he took her hand and led her out of the door.

They walked past the Cathedral de Santiago de Compostela. It was a beautiful Roman and gothic church, well lit in the dark. It stood out as a beacon not only of light but of beauty in the night. She stood beneath its imposing façade and stared. She felt the history of centuries singing from its grand walls. In her short time in the country, she already felt seduced by Spain. "It's stunning, isn't it?" Hannibal asked. She nodded. "We'll see it again tomorrow, my dear. It's time for dinner."

He took her to_ La Bodeguilla de Jaime_, a tiny restaurant hidden off a side street near the Cathedral. A slim, jovial Spanish man led them to their table, which happened to be the only table in the restaurant. Alana raised her eyebrows at Hannibal, and he smiled. "Jaime constructs each meal carefully for his one table. He is an artist. We share a similarly refined palate and…unique tastes."

Just then, an older man in a suit with a chef's hat on, with wire-rimmed glasses and a mustache nearly skipped up to Hannibal and grasped his hand, shaking it vigorously. "¡El médico ha regresado! Mi amigo, ¿quiere su favorito?" He struck Alana as someone's slightly-demented _abuelo_, a kindly older gentleman with a streak of strangeness. Then he turned to her, and said, "Su amiga. Ella es maravillosa. Me gustaría consumirla."

Hannibal's eyes darkened and his smile was plastered onto his face. Alana, whose Spanish was intermediate at best, thought he just said he'd like to consume her. Hannibal responded, "Ella es mía para consumir, Jaime." It sounded like a threat.

Jaime laughed and said, "Claro." Then Hannibal grinned, and the tension diffused.

The chef left and Hannibal apologized to Alana. "He is losing his ability to maintain decorum in his old age. Forgive him."

"Of course." She slipped off her shoe, then ran her foot up the inside of his leg, her toes cupping his crotch. "And I am only yours…to consume."

He groaned. They waited for their meal, and she continued to tease him under the table as he told her about Santiago de Compostela. "And still today, pilgrims take "el camino" to this holiest of cities," he finished. Her foot played with his bulge. "You are a supreme distraction, Ms. Bloom."

She smiled mischievously at him, eyes peeking up at him from under her eyelashes. "I know."

He opened his mouth to retort, but just then, Jaime brought out their food. He placed the dishes in front of them with a flourish. "Pulpo y…ternera…a la Gallega."

Alana took a tentative bite. "This is delicious! ¡Esto es delicioso!" She praised Jaime. He bowed and left them to their meal.

Hannibal watched her eat, and she could feel his erection growing under her playful foot with each bite she took.

Hannibal loved watching her eat human meat.


	19. Keep Her

**Title:** Keep Her, Day 20 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom: **Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13  
**Author's notes:** Blame charlotteof_denmark, because this was her prompt. Or blame my muse! Just not me! Still, I hope you all like this saccharine chapter.

* * *

For their last day in Spain, Hannibal planned to give them a tour of some of the places in Santiago de Compostela they had not yet seen. They started with the Museo das Peregrinacións. Their tour guide was a scholarly looking young man who explained the history of the pilgrims and of the pilgrimage on the way of St. James to Santiago de Compostela. Alana listened attentively as he showed them the museum exhibits. She was particularly fascinated by all of the statues of the pilgrims throughout the ages; she could almost hear the dedication and faith of the pilgrims as she gazed at the artwork.

Their next stop was the cathedral. The sun was high in the sky as they walked through the plaza to their destination. "We've seen the cathedral, but today we're going to see the botafumeiro used during the mass," Hannibal told her.

Alana turned her head and raised her eyebrow in question. Hannibal answered her unspoken question. "The botafumeiro is a thurible…" he smiled when she shook her head in confusion. He loved playing the role of educator to her student still. "It's a large metal container for the burning of incense, my dear. I requested its showing for you; normally, it is only used during saint years at daily mass."

She wondered what strings he'd had to pull to make that happen. "Thank you. This trip has been simply magnificent."

He took her hand in his and ran his fingers along her palm. She shivered as she felt a blaze of warmth along her spine. She was still amazed that he had such a physical effect on her. She'd felt the chemistry, the spark, between them before they started their intimate relationship. But since then, the spark had grown into a blaze. Every touch sent burning heat through her body. And just being near him was enough for her to feel warm all over. She'd never experienced such an effect before; in previous relationships, the flame tended to sizzle and die over time. Her flame with Hannibal only grew brighter with each passing day.

They entered the cathedral and took a seat in a pew halfway to the front. She sat silently, letting the gorgeous yet faintly haunting sound of the organ's music wash over her. She gasped as the botafumeiro swung, trailing smoke in its wake. Hannibal took her hand in his and smiled. She watched him as he watched the mass, enraptured. She loved his passion. Just one more thing to love about him.

When the mass finished, they filed out with the other worshipers and tourists. They stood in the plaza, taking in the sights and sounds around them. There was a light wind. Alana tilted her head back and let the breeze blow through her hair. Then Alana looked around the plaza. Pigeons pecked at unseen crumbs on the ground. Tourists, locals, and pilgrims all milled around the square, talking. Then she noticed a lovely sight.

There was a woman, splendid in all white. She seemed to shine with happiness. This bride stood next to her groom, who couldn't stop touching his new wife. His touches were not scandalous; he simply kept a hand on her arm, her back, her cheek, touching her as if he simply couldn't stand being even an inch apart from her.

Alana smiled as she watched the couple pose for their photographer. Hannibal followed her gaze and saw what so pleased her.

"You desire to be married, Alana," he stated.

She turned to Hannibal, tearing her gaze from the happy couple. "Yes?" she said her answer as a question, wondering where Hannibal was going with his statement.

"Is that a question, Ms. Bloom, or a statement?"

She laughed, remembering him asking her the same question as a student when she didn't answer definitively. So she responded again with a definitive "Yes, I do want to be married. To you, by the way."

He turned his head away from her, and for a moment, she felt fearful that she had gone too far. She started to apologize for putting her foot in her mouth when he said, "I may be able to arrange that."

It took Alana a life-changing moment to comprehend what he had just said to her. Then she could feel her smile stretching her cheeks. She'd never felt so happy in her life. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she asked, " Did you just propose to me, Dr. Lecter?"

He turned to her and she saw that he wore an uncharacteristically big, boyish smile on his face. "I suppose I did." Then he leaned in and kissed her, dipping her backward in his passion as he kissed her in that beautiful Spanish plaza.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they returned home, he arranged a private ceremony at a small church in Baltimore for one month later. The groom wore a blue and red plaid sport coat over a white dress shirt. The bride wore a red lace sheath dress (his favorite color on her). She had tiny red roses pinned in her curls. Hannibal and Alana exchanged vows in front of no one but a priest. Their wedding was intimate, classy, unique, and private, just like they were as a couple.

When they made love later that evening, a slightly drunk Alana couldn't stop staring at the gold band he now wore on his ring finger. She also kept calling him "husband."

For his part, Hannibal wondered if and more likely, when she'd discover his secret. He didn't plan to stop killing and consuming human flesh just because he was a married man. He knew however, that wives had a way of finding out secrets their husbands kept. So while Alana slept peacefully that night, Hannibal lay awake.

He asked a God he didn't fully believe in if he could keep her. "Let me keep her." He thought of Mischa, stolen from him. He wanted Alana for his keeping. Forever. "Can I keep her?" he asked God.

He didn't get an answer.


	20. Catnip for Serial Killers

**Title:** Catnip for Serial Killers, Day 21 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom: **Hannibal  
**Pairing: **Hannibloom  
**Rating:** r  
**WARNINGS:** More graphic depictions of violence here, folks. Proceed with caution.

* * *

Catnip for serial killers. That's what Dr. Gideon had called her. What an apt descriptor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She followed Hannibal into the lab. Another day, another dead body. She surreptitiously took off her diamond and her wedding band and placed them in her jacket pocket as she approached the table.

She wasn't ready to share news of her marriage yet, especially not with Will Graham. She was happy, thrilled even, to be married to the man she loved. But explaining that to another man who loved her, who also thought her husband was a cannibalistic serial killer? She was not ready for that.

She didn't think to ask Hannibal to take off his band. She mentally kicked herself later, because she should have thought of it, knowing Will's keen eyes would pick up on the platinum gleam on Hannibal's ring finger.

But first-

The female body in front of them was contorted into a grotesque shape. Alana looked closer. No, not contorted. Broken apart, and sewn back together, like a Picasso, to look contorted. Like a circus act. Alana felt her stomach turn, as it always did when she was confronted by the most horrific of murders. She turned her face away from the body. She took a deep breath and pressed her tongue to the top of her mouth. This little ritual calmed her and she was able to look again. She saw a dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties. Her head was attached sans neck to her torso, with a leg sticking out of it. One arm protruded from each breast. Her hands were attached to the leg still in its right location. In the hands were a bouquet of white roses.

Alana glanced at Hannibal. He seemed unperturbed. Alana frowned; she wondered how Hannibal could look at something like _this_ and not be bothered. She supposed it was his background as a surgeon. Meanwhile, there was a reason she chose psychiatry as her specialty after medical school.

Jack spoke. 'This is the third one this week. All found in the vicinity of Washington D.C., in Maryland, or Virginia, the suburbs mainly. The victims are all in the middle or late thirties, all female. They were professionals, an advertising executive, a journalist, and now, a C.E.O." He pointed to the victim. "This is a high profile case. The media is calling him the 'D.C. butcher.' Our killer is moving fast. He wants us to sit up and pay attention. And so we are."

"She was bled before being cut apart with a butcher's knife and re-made, just like the others," Zeller pronounced.

Hannibal pointed to the roses and started to speak. "White roses symbolize innocence, purity, as well as new beginnings. In contrast, they are also given in memory of-"

Will cut him off as he pointed to Hannibal's hand. "What is that?"

Hannibal finally looked perturbed, but at being interrupted. "It is a wedding ring."

Will's eyes narrowed. Hannibal glanced at Alana, who knew she looked like a deer caught in headlights, but she nodded at Hannibal to continue.

"Alana and I are married."

Alana closed her eyes tightly, waiting for the eruption. Instead, she heard a slam, and then Jack calling after Will. She opened her eyes. Will had slammed down the case file and stormed out of the lab. Jack followed him.

Price and Zeller exchanged puzzled glances, then looked at Hannibal and Alana. Both said, "Congratulations" at the same time. Price followed this with "Jinx, you owe me a drink." Alana smiled. They returned to discussing the fate of the poor woman in front of them. Alana thought of excusing herself to talk to Will, but knew that Will would not want to see her right now. To him, this must feel like the ultimate act of betrayal. She nodded at all the right moments when they discussed the case, but her head was with her estranged friend.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That night, Alana cooked dinner for her and Hannibal. She and Hannibal hadn't quite figured out how to merge lives spent 40 miles away from each other. Hannibal was presently spending most nights at her house. This was a sacrifice he made for her, as she knew he greatly preferred his own house to hers. She was waiting for him to come from Baltimore. He should have finished with his last patient at exactly 5:50 pm. Thus, she knew he should be arriving soon. She opened her oven to check her balsamic roasted pork loin. It looked and smelled delicious, and Alana was proud of herself for the meal. Just then, she heard the doorbell ring.

She'd given Hannibal a key, yet he still insisted on ringing the bell. She'd tried to tell him that this was essentially his home now as well, but he considered it more polite to ring. She rolled her eyes and walked to the door, ready to throw her arms around her husband and kiss him. It had felt like a long day away from him, even though she'd seen him at the lab just that morning. Alana opened the door.

It wasn't Hannibal. She didn't even have time to ask, "Who are you?" before she was shoved forcefully backwards into her entryway, the door being kicked shut behind them.

The dark-haired young man spun her around as she stumbled, pinning her arms behind her. Before he spun her, she noticed the dark marks of fingers around his neck, and she felt a moment of sympathy for him. Then he pulled her arms back, and she felt them strain in their sockets. She screamed, more from the shock than pain. She struggled to get free, but he playfully whispered "Nah, nah, nah," as he held a butcher knife up to her neck. She settled, and he continued speaking in that whisper, as if he'd lost his voice. Judging from the marks on his neck, maybe he had.

Still holding her by the wrists with one hand, he lowered the knife and pointed with it. "Walk," he croaked. "Try anything funny and-" he mimed slitting her throat. She awkwardly shuffled forward as he followed behind with her wrists in his hand. He led her to the kitchen. She could smell her dinner starting to burn.

The man hissed at her. "Dr. Alana Renee Bloom, thirty-six. Graduated summa cum laude from Virginia Commonwealth University. Medical school at John Hopkins. A recently tenured professor at Georgetown University, and a guest lecturer and consultant to the FBI at Quantico. Those are some distinctions, Doctor." He ran the knife across her stomach, cutting into her dress, then up to her breasts. She could feel the cold metal on her breasts through the thin fabric of her wrap dress.

Alana didn't bother to ask what he wanted with her. She already knew. Instead she asked, "What do you have against successful women? Why us?"

He wheezed behind her as if she'd punched him. "Are you really in the position to be asking questions, Doctor?"

Just then, she heard the front door open. The killer backed up, pulling her with him with the knife pressed to her chest. She felt a tiny trickle of blood start to flow down her ribcage as the ultra sharp knife opened a thin slice at the top of one breast.

Hannibal's voice rang out, moving closer with each word, "My dear, you told me to utilize my key, so I…" He stopped when he saw Alana and the killer between her kitchen island and pantry. He took in the scene, his eyes darkening with rage with each passing moment.

"If you want her to live, I suggest you leave," the killer whispered.

The cannibalistic killer across from him scoffed. "You have no intention of letting her live. But if you have any desire to continue your own life, you'll unhand my wife."

The young man grabbed Alana around the waist, lunging towards Hannibal with his knife. Hannibal did not flinch, but did back up a few paces, out of the killer's immediate reach. While he moved, he asked, "Did your _distinguished_ mother give you those bruises around the neck? She started when you were just a boy, didn't she? She was about my wife's age?"

The young killer stopped in his tracks in shock. This gave Hannibal the opportunity he needed. He too lunged forward, grabbing the young man's wrist. He twisted hard, until he heard a snap. The man howled, a strange sound from someone with bruised vocal cords, and dropped the knife, staggering back from Alana. Before the knife could clatter to the floor, Hannibal grabbed it out of thin air. He pushed Alana aside and stabbed the man in the gut. Alana looked on as he twisted the knife up and in, a look of undeniable pleasure on his face. Then he pulled the knife from the man's stomach and sliced across this throat in one brutally quick and forceful swipe. The now dead killer fell to the floor. Alana watched as blood spread across her wood floor. Her legs seemed to collapse out from under her, and her back slid down her kitchen island. She came to rest on the floor. When she looked up at Hannibal, her eyes wide with shock, she saw him do something terrifying.

His tongue darted out and he licked the killer's blood from the blade of the knife. His eyes were dark, so dark, his pupils tiny holes of never-ending blackness in his face.

When he saw Alana looking at him, he abruptly dropped the knife. Life returned to his face. He went to his knees before her, tentatively inching his way towards her. "Numylėtinė?" He reached out to touch her face.

She flinched away from him.

* * *

Whew, I got a bit carried away there! What do you think?


	21. With All My Heart

**Title: **With All My Heart, Day 22 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating: **nc-17  
**Author's notes:** So remember awhile back how I said that these chapters were stand-alones? Well, that's obviously no longer true. Disregard that. Read this as one long story. Anyways, I feel like I wrote myself into a corner with the last chapter! Hopefully I managed to write myself out of it with this one!

* * *

Alana walked into her therapist's office. She looked around the familiar room. She observed once again with interest how Dr. Josie Boyd had created a peaceful atmosphere, her walls a soothing shade of green, photographs of a forest on one wall and a Buddhist quote on another. She thought about how Hannibal had visibly scoffed when she'd told him her therapist was a Psy.D who went by her first name to patients. He'd asked her why she didn't see a psychiatrist ("someone properly trained" being the unspoken meaning) and she reminded him that few psychiatrists practiced therapy anymore. Most just prescribed medications in brief appointments, unfortunately. It was part of the reason Alana no longer practiced. Hannibal was an anomaly.

In more ways than one.

However, she liked and respected her therapist. She sat down in the lounge chair opposite her. Alana crossed her legs, but she could feel her legs trembling.

Josie pushed her glasses up on her nose and leaned towards Alana. She looked concerned. "I can see that you're upset, Alana. Do you want to tell me why?"

Alana felt like she might burst into tears. Her therapist stood up and placed a fresh box of tissues on the table next to Alana. She had to bite back the tears at that point. She turned her face away from her therapist and began to speak. She told her therapist how she had been attacked in her home by the D.C. Butcher, and how Hannibal had come to her rescue.

"You're telling me that he murdered someone, Alana. In front of you, _for_ you, no less."

She turned back and answered, "Yes, he murdered that boy in cold blood."

"That _man_ was going to kill you. I can tell you feel conflicted. Can you share what's troubling you?"

Alana sighed and turned her head away from her Josie yet again. She was finding it hard to look her in the eyes today. "What's troubling me is that I don't feel conflicted. Not really. I keep thinking of Simon…his name was Simon Mason. Lying on my floor, bleeding out. And Hannibal…he…"

She couldn't bring herself to tell her therapist how he had licked the blood from the knife. She swallowed, and continued speaking. "I feel nothing for the man who died on my kitchen floor. I should feel sad that a life was lost. But I'm not sad."

"He almost took your life. It's natural that you might feel…vindicated, perhaps?"

"Yes."

"And your husband saved your life. He saved your life by taking another life. How do you feel about that?"

"When he looked at me afterwards, he didn't look…human. He didn't look like the man I loved. I was frightened."

Josie leaned back and asked, "Are you still frightened?"

Alana felt one tear drip down her cheek. She quickly pulled a tissue from the box and dabbed at her eyes. "Yes."

"What frightens you, Alana?"

The words tumbled out. "I'm frightened that I'm not frightened of him, not really. I feel that I should be, but I trust him. He's…he tiptoes around me now. Like I'm an animal he doesn't want to spook. How could a man that careful of my feelings frighten me? What I'm frightened of is that he might be who they say he is. What if he is the Chesapeake Ripper? I just can't get it out of my head, the way he looked when he killed. Like he liked it."

What she can't explain is how, after her moment of fear, she'd felt exhilarated. Powerful. She could feel Hannibal's strength and excitement flowing through the room. She thought that if he was the devil, and she loved the devil, what did that make her?

"Do you think he could be the Chesapeake Ripper?" Josie questioned.

"No," Alana answered aloud. "Yes," her mind said. She couldn't bring herself to answer the question in her own head. The question her insistent mind asked was, "Would you still love him if he was the Ripper?"

Her immediate answer should be no. But she didn't have an answer. She couldn't make sense of everything going through her head and betrayer's heart.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That night, she found Hannibal asleep in her bedroom when she returned home, an open book resting on his bare chest. She walked over to pick up the book and pull the covers over him. She gazed down at her husband. He looked innocent. When he slept, she could almost see the boy Hannibal had once been, his face free of lines and pretenses.

She placed the book on the bedside table. As she moved to pull the covers over him, Hannibal groaned in his sleep. She paused. His face contorted as if in pain. She heard him mumble, "Not Alana! Not her!"

Alana sat on the bed beside Hannibal and gently shook him awake. "Hannibal, wake up, love. Wake up."

His eyes opened. They looked tortured and so very dark. He grabbed her wrist and she gasped. Then he loosened his grip and sighed. "You're fine. You're fine," he reassured himself. "Oh, love. They were hurting you."

"No one is hurting me, Hannibal. I'm here."

She crawled into bed and pressed herself against him. She could feel him trembling against her, his heart racing. She placed her hand over his chest, over his heart. She looked into his eyes and could see the apprehension he'd had about her in the days since the incident. She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, the cheek, the neck, and finally his lips. She kissed him all over, running her hands through his hair and up and down his chest. She could feel him, his long body tense against her short one. He whispered to her, "Would you love me, dear?" He sounded raw and open.

She pulled his pajama pants down his legs, then pulled off her own panties. She slid her dress up over her head, then unhooked her bra. Finally, she straddled him. She could feel him against her backside, already hard. She got up on her knees and slid back, reaching between them. Then she guided him inside of her. When he was fully sheathed in her, he sighed. She moved up and down on his erection, riding him languidly.

When he sat up, she gasped at the change of angle. He gathered her hair in his hand and pulled her head back, then started kissing her neck. His hips started moving up against hers, as he met her languid thrusts with hard, passionate, wonderfully intense thrusts of his own. She moaned, her throat moving against his lips, "mane, meilužis."

He stopped thrusting into her. "Did you just tell me to "take you" in Lithuanian?" he asked.

"Yes. I've been learning it for you. Now, move!" she commanded him. He obeyed, flipping her over on the bed in one fluid motion. Then he alternatively thrust into her fast, then slow, then fast again, bringing her right to the edge of orgasm, then slowing down until the wave subsided. She repeated her earlier learned phrase. "Mane, mane, mane. Mane!"

Hearing her beg him in his mother tongue made him lose control. He came inside her. She could feel him pulse inside of her. The feeling was exquisite, a feeling of power. And she was beginning to love feeling powerful.

As she came after him, her mind seemed to whisper the answer to her earlier question. "Would you still love him if he was the Ripper?"

_"With all my heart."_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, Hannibal watched Alana sleep peacefully beside him. He smoothed back her hair away from her face. His faked nightmare had worked to sway her sympathy once again to his side. He needed his wife on his side, because he loved her dearly. With all his devil's heart.


	22. Retribution

**Title: **Retribution, Day 23 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13  
**Author's notes:** Obviously, Hannibal wasn't alive during WWII, so I had to change some things, including in a past chapter. If the tv show's canon ruins my semi-book related version of Hannibal's childhood trauma, so be it. Ugh, I shouldn't be as bothered by this as I am.

* * *

"Mischa!"

He woke in a patch of wet with a scream on his lips. The cry was both foreign and familiar. He cried out his sister's name during nightmares countless times in his youth. However, he had not had a nightmare of Mischa since finding and terminating those who had killed and cannibalized his beloved sister, so many years ago. To find his old nightmare resurrected disturbed him deeply.

He wondered why he was having this nightmare again after so long. He thought about it. Hannibal believed in retribution. It seemed he shouldn't have lied to Alana about having nightmares. Was this his punishment?

Hannibal got out of bed and showered, then changed his sheets. He lay back down in bed, but sleep alluded him. For the first time in a long time, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, cannibalistic killer of many men, was afraid to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alana woke from a dream where she was on a boat on the lake while Hannibal sailed, when suddenly the water grew turbulent, violently rocking from side to side. She sat up and gasped. The bed was rocking, not the boat; she was in Hannibal's large bed and he was thrashing from side to side.

She grabbed his flailing arm and shook it. He pulled free. He was thrashing so wildly that she feared for his safety, and hers a bit too. He was also moaning, and yelling in his sleep. Most of it was in rapid-fire Lithuanian, and her Lithuanian was not yet good enough to make out much but a few words here and there. She heard "prašom," which meant please. And "ne," or no.

And Mischa. He cried out Mischa, his younger sister's name.

She tried to call out to him. "Hannibal! Hannibal, wake up!" He was too deep in his nightmare to hear her. Alana moved closer to Hannibal and reached out her hand. She smacked him, right across his face.

His eyes opened wide and he grasped her wrist as she pulled her hand away. His cheek was turning bright red, but the rest of his face was so very pale. "Alana," he stated, his confused eyes starting to focus. He stared at her. His whole body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he was shaking. His teeth started chattering. Alana contemplated for a moment. She thought he was awake enough, so she climbed on top of him and pressed her warm, dry body against his cold, wet one. Then she pulled the covers over them both. "Shh, shh, Hannibal. Shh, my love," she whispered to him as she caressed his cheek, then his damp hair.

He hesitated for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her tight.

Alana and Hannibal lay like that until Hannibal's breathing slowed and his body lost its tenseness. Then Hannibal slid Alana off of him, though his arms never left her body. She nuzzled up against him. She bit her lip; she wanted to speak, but she didn't know if it was her place. Then she thought, "I am his wife. It's time for him to tell me."

She leaned on her elbows and moved towards Hannibal, and kissed his cheek. "Please tell me. Tell me what happened to her."

His eyes widened. She thought he would refuse again. But he spoke, so quiet she could barely hear him.

"They took my parents. They said my father was a traitor to the Soviet Union. They shot him, right in front of us. I tried to shield Mischa's eyes, but I know she saw. She cried out for him. She cried out, 'Papa!' They raped my mother before they shot her. I could hear her screams. I covered Mischa's ears."

Alana swallowed. She hadn't heard the details of his story, only knew that his whole family was murdered. That was horrible enough, but Alana had not known he was a witness.

Hannibal stood up abruptly, and Alana thought he was not going to tell her any more. But he walked to a chest in the corner of his room, opened it, and pulled out a tiny little girl's silver bracelet. He turned it over and over in his hand. She waited while her husband became lost in his sad memories. Then he placed the bracelet with infinite care back into the chest. Next he pulled out the worn, bent photograph of Mischa she'd seen previously. He ran his fingers over it, as if he could reach through the photo and touch the innocent little girl.

"I don't know why they kept us alive until later…they said they were starving. We all were on the edge of starving, during the communist years. They said she was sick, and would die anyways. They said…they said she was plump, and would be…juicy."

It took a moment for Alana to comprehend. When she did, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Could it be true? They _ate_ his sister? She stood and walked over to Hannibal, standing behind him. She wrapped her arms around her much taller husband, resting her head against his back. She didn't know how to comfort him, so she hoped that her simple touch would be a start.

"Did the police ever find them? The ones who…murdered your parents? Mischa?"

Hannibal didn't hesitate before lying to his wife. "No." He amended, "They never found them."

He turned in her arms. She thought she saw tears shining in his eyes. The sight of Hannibal, so vulnerable, made her start to cry.

"Don't you see, my darling, how much it hurts me, what they accuse me of? How could I…eat…anyone, with what was done to my sister?"

Alana nodded, and pressed her head to his chest. "Oh, my poor love. My poor, innocent love," she thought.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal wiped faked tears from his eyes. He recalled his horror when he'd found out he'd eaten his own sister. But he could remember the taste of the broth his captives had brought him. Mischa, in the broth. He too had been starving, and he recalled how in such a state, he'd never before tasted anything so delicious.

But he'd gotten his retribution. With almost every meal since.

* * *

Even in a vulnerable state, Hannibal finds a way to manipulate Alana. What an evil, delicious man.


	23. Hold Me

**Title:** Hold Me, Day 24 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing: **Hannibloom  
**Rating: **r  
**WARNING:** Trigger warning for talk of sexual abuse!  
**Author's notes:** Thanks to mchanni for helping urge me to get over my writer's block.

* * *

When Alana's classes were over for the spring semester, she thought about teaching summer classes, but Hannibal had inspired her to see patients again. She reopened her practice, and what started as a trickle of patients became a steady flow as the summer progressed. Her practice was soon flourishing. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed seeing patients. True, many of her sessions were limited to twenty minute medication management sessions, but she was beginning to build up her therapeutic practice as well.

Psychiatrists shouldn't have favorite patients, but Alana did have one. Chloe was nine. She was a gangly little girl with cropped blonde hair and a thumb constantly in her mouth. When Alana first met her, Chloe had pulled her thumb from her mouth and asked her mother for "wipes." Alana tilted her head at the girl's mother, who pulled out disinfectant wipes from her purse, opening the package and handing Chloe one. Chloe diligently wiped down the wooden arms of Alana's comfy patient chair, then handed the wipe back to her mother. Then she sat on the chair, her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs, as if she were afraid to touch the armrests she had just cleaned.

Chloe had severe anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder. Alana started by prescribing her Sertraline, then began intensive therapy with the young girl, seeing her twice a week. Alana worked with Chloe on her compulsions, trying to help desensitize her to aversive stimuli that made her want to wash compulsively. But Alana also sensed that there was something deeper going on with Chloe. The little girl was shy, and Alana worked hard to try to get her to open up. She often pulled out games to play with the girl. "Will I get punished if I lose?" Chloe had asked Alana tentatively when Alana had first pulled out her therapeutically modified version of Clue. Alana had assured her that she wouldn't, but the question had haunted her. Who punished Chloe when she lost games? And how?

During today's session, she set up Safety Island, a learning game. "Chloe, who do you like to play games with?" she asked as she sat in her chair after setting up the game.

Chloe responded, "You, Dr. Bloom."

Alana smiled. The girl was so sweet. Again, she thought about having one of her own, and knew she would have to bring the topic up to Hannibal soon.

"Thank you, Chloe. Do you play games with anyone else?"

Chloe's thumb immediately travelled from the board to her mouth, as it did when she was anxious. "My uncle Martin," she mumbled around her thumb.

"Yes? Do you like playing with Uncle Martin?"

Chloe shook her head no. Alana thought she was getting somewhere. "Why not?"

"He says I'm a sore loser. He says I have to be taught how to lose grace…gracefully." She stumbled over the word, and one large teardrop fell from the little girl's eyes. Alana moved closer to Chloe. "How does he do that, Chloe?" Chloe dropped her eyes, not looking at Alana. "I'm not supposed to tell." She got up from her chair and rushed to Alana's side, then whispered in her ear.

What Chloe told Alana horrified her. As a psychiatrist, she was familiar with signs and symptoms of child abuse, and she'd suspected that Chloe was abused. She hadn't expected the extent of the abuse. It was the worst sexual abuse case she'd ever heard. Chloe was forced to do heinous sexual acts on her uncle when she lost the games they played. He told her he was teaching her not be a "sore loser" when he touched her.

Alana was shaken. After she completed the child abuse report that day, she drove home in a daze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal, who had all but moved in that summer, though he kept his house, was already in her kitchen cooking dinner. She inhaled the savory scents drifting through her house, and couldn't help but feel nauseous. She kept thinking of Chloe. She walked into her kitchen.

"Hello, Alana." Hannibal was dicing carrots on her cutting board. "Dinner will be ready in…" he looked up and saw her face, and abruptly stopped speaking. Was it so obvious, her distress? He lay down the knife and the carrot he was holding, and walked over to her, his strong arms coming to wrap around her trembling body.

"Tell me what's troubling you, darling," he commanded gently.

She sighed and rubbed her face against his red sweater, inhaling his comforting scent. She could feel the tenseness in her body floating away as he held her. She ignored his question and asked, "How long do we have until dinner?"

He responded, "The roast will be done in an hour. I still need to prepare the vegetables."

"Can we go upstairs and will you just…hold me?"

"I'll hold you for as long as you'd like." Hannibal unwrapped his arms from around her and grasped her hand in his, leading her away from the kitchen. She followed him up the stairs to her bedroom. He lay down on her queen sized bed and patted the space next to him. She smiled and let her hair down from its clip and removed her bra. Then she crawled into bed next to him. Alana snuggled up against Hannibal. She placed her hand over the front of his sweater, right on his chest over his heart. She could feel the steady beat of his heart under her palm and it calmed her. She tucked her other arm between them, and she could feel her own heartbeat matching his beat. She loved that they were so attuned to each other. He leaned his head down and kissed the top of her head, smelling the flowery scent of her shampoo. Then he started stroking her hair. She let out a little moan of simple pleasure. They lay just like that for awhile, him stroking her hair while she closed her eyes and felt the calming effect of his touch.

"Turn over," he commanded her. She obliged, turning away from him to lie on her stomach. She knew he was going to give her a back rub. He straddled her and helped her shimmy out of her shirt. He folded her shirt and placed it next to him on the bed, ever the gentleman. Then he placed his hands on her back. First, it was his fingertips, light and tickling against her spine. His fingers felt rough against her smooth skin, even though they weren't relatively that rough. She squirmed beneath him.

His fingers left her back and next she heard him pulling open the drawer to her bedside table. Then she felt his hands on her back again, now smoothed by warm lotion. He rubbed loving circles on her back, increasing his pressure as he went. She groaned beneath him and couldn't help but tease him by bucking her hips up, rubbing her behind against his crotch. She could feel him stir there, the start of an erection, but he leaned down over her and said, "Dinner first, dear. We'll leave that for dessert."

She smiled. He knew just what to say and do to distract and calm her. She felt better already. Then he spoke again.

"Was it something that happened in one of your sessions that upset you so?" he asked quietly.

She sighed. She hadn't planned on telling him, but she thought it might be cathartic. She could also depend on him to be discrete and keep her patient's information to himself.

"My patient, Chloe, the little girl. I finally cracked her today. She told me about the abuse. And Hannibal, God, it was horrendous. What he did to her," she mumbled against her pillow. His hands continued their ministrations on her back. She took multiple deep breaths, counting to five, then continued telling him about what Chloe had told her.

She could feel his tension growing, even as he kept up the steady pressure on her back. She could feel it in the way he held his body against her; he was like a wire pulled tight. Her account of the abuse was upsetting him.

"Who did it?"

He paused in his massaging, just the minutest of stops. She answered, "Her uncle."

He continued his massage until she felt loose and light beneath him. "Did telling me give you release?" he asked.

"It did. Thank you. And thank you for the massage." She turned over underneath him. He leaned down and placed a kiss at the top of her left breast. Then he kissed her lips.

"Dinner before dessert?" she whispered against his lips.

He pulled back. "It is time, yes. You rest up here, and I will call you when I am finished."

She nodded, lifting her hands above her head to stretch. He climbed off of her and proceeded down the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

While Alana rested, Hannibal opened her work bag before finishing dinner. He looked at her notes from today's session, and found the name of the little girl's uncle. Martin Vang. He committed the name to memory.

Hannibal Lecter's meat supply was growing short.


	24. A Lucid Moment

**Title:** A Lucid Moment, Day 25 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** nc-17  
**Author's notes:** I felt like we definitely needed at least one more porny chapter before this ends, right? So it only gets porny at the end, but that's hopefully enough. We're getting close to the end, folks! Ahhh!

* * *

"Dr. Bloom, Dr. Bloom!" Chloe cried out as she bounded into Alana's office, livelier than usual. Alana laughed and playfully tried to catch Chloe, who giggled and bounced away from her. Alana then turned her attention to Chloe's mother. She was disturbed to see tears in the woman's eyes.

"Mrs. Vang, are you alright?"

The tall blonde woman shook her head and whispered, "No." Alana motioned for her to take a seat. Then she stepped outside and asked her secretary, Natasha, to watch Chloe. She handed Chloe a deck of Go Fish cards and told her to teach Natasha how to play, since she'd taught Chloe a few weeks previously. Chloe trilled, "Okay!" and skipped from the room, oblivious to her mother's plight.

Alana sat across from Chloe's mother. Lauren Vang reached for the tissues Alana kept next to her patient's chair on a table and wiped at her eyes. Alana waited for the woman to speak.

"Her uncle was murdered two nights ago. I can't say I'm upset because of what he did to Chloe, but this morning…" she burst into tears and couldn't continue. Alana's heart went out to the woman across from her. She certainly had suffered, finding out that her daughter was sexually abused by her brother-in-law and now, having a murder in the family. Even if Alana agreed that the murder of a pedophile wasn't necessarily the worst tragedy. Alana waited as Mrs. Vang cried, a look of sympathy and caring on her face. When Mrs. Vang calmed down, her voice was hoarse as she said, "They arrested my husband for the murder this morning. Chloe doesn't know yet."

She reached out and Alana leaned forward and grasped her hand. "How do I tell Chloe?"

Alana answered, "We'll tell her together."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alana felt emotionally drained from her session with Chloe and her mother, but she still had duties to the FBI to attend to. She walked into Jack's office, where he and Will were discussing a new case. When she walked in, Will's eyes darted to the door. When he saw that it was her, his eyes moved to the floor; he still refused to make eye contact with her since finding out that she'd married Hannibal.

"Fill me in," she stated to Jack.

"We were just discussing a possible new Ripper victim. As you know, the Ripper has been dormant for the past few months, and we're not sure why. Then, this vic turns up. Local police have arrested the vic's brother for the murder, but then they discovered organs missing. They want to know if they have the right man, naturally."

"It's the Ripper. And this one, this Ripper murder, is personal," Will interjected.

Jack countered, "There's no…art…to this victim's death. That isn't like the Ripper."

Will paced back and forth in front of Jack's desk. "It's the Ripper. I know it, Jack."

Jack turned to Alana and said, "I want your opinion, Alana. Let's go to the lab, so you can see the victim." He handed a manilla folder to her. "The case file." Then he walked from his office, expecting them to follow. They did. Alana walked a few paces behind Jack and Will, perusing the case file. The first page was a picture of the victim. The second page was his demographic information. She read the name at the top of the sheet: Martin Vang.

Alana stopped in the middle of the long hallway, reeling. Chloe's uncle, a Ripper victim? But they'd arrested her father for it. Yet Will was convinced that the Ripper was responsible. And he'd said it was personal.

She remembered how Hannibal had tensed as he listened to Chloe's story. She'd told him that Chloe's uncle had molested her.

Will thought the Chesapeake Ripper was Hannibal.

"He couldn't know. He didn't know Chloe's name, much less her uncle's. I never told him," she thought desperately.

Will noticed that she had stopped walking. He looked at her for the first time in a long time, his face puzzled. She imagined she was utterly pale as her mind fought to convince itself yet again that Hannibal could not be the ripper. "Alana?" he questioned.

Jack stopped walking too, and they both rushed back to her. "Oh yeah, definitely feeling faint," Alana thought, as Jack placed a steadying hand on her arm.

"I can't…I can't consult on this case." She paused and swallowed the spit that was pooling in her mouth. "I have a personal connection to the victim."

"Did you know him?" Jack asked.

"That's confidential," she answered. She couldn't break her patient's confidentiality, but she did not feel it was her place to consult on the case of Chloe's uncle's murder.

Jack nodded and let go of her arm. "You're going to be alright, Alana?"

She nodded her head and turned around. As she rushed down the hall, she could hear ringing in her ears and Jack saying, "We'll call in Dr. Lecter." And then Will arguing against it. She ignored their argument as her mind raced. She had to get home. She had to get home before she was sick.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She chopped celery for the stew she was making. Her hand was no longer shaky as she chopped. She'd spent the last hour convincing herself that there was no way Hannibal could be the Chesapeake Ripper. She had not married a cannibal. She was not in love with a serial killer.

She convinced herself yet again, and she was sure of her conviction. Then Hannibal walked in the door.

She felt his strong arms wrap around her from behind. "What are you cooking, Ms. Bloom?"

She dropped the knife and turned in his arms. She gave him a quick peck on the lips and asked, "Don't you mean, 'Mrs. Lecter?'"

His eyes reflected the overhead lights in the kitchen, brilliant points of light in each pupil. "Indeed I do," he stated, as he lifted her in his strong arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist. She laughed as he started carrying her out of the kitchen. "I need you," he growled at her laughter. She stopped laughing as an erotic shiver went down her spine, like it did every time she heard Hannibal's growl.

He carried her upstairs, steady and sure on his feet even with all the added front-weight. She felt comfortable and loved in his arms. But she also felt immensely turned-on; just a touch from Hannibal turned her body into a live wire just begging to be felt.

When they got to her bedroom, he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, where she bounced a few times. She gasped and said, "Rude, Dr. Lecter!"

Then he was on top of her, his body pressed against hers as he devoured her mouth. Rarely was Hannibal like this. He was always passionate, always a talented lover, but rarely did he lose himself in her; he was so controlled. She felt her panties dampen with excitement.

His hands were all over her; running up her sides, causing her to break out in goosebumps. He nearly tore her shirt off of her, and actually did cause a small rip in her bra as he pulled it from her body.

"I'm sorry, dearest," he whispered against her neck as he palmed her breasts.

"Ughhh…it's okay…more!" She gasped as his fingers starting tweaking her nipples. She brought her hips up and grinded against him. His erection was tenting his pants, so hard pressed up against her, but there were too many clothes in the way of what she really wanted. So she shoved him back.

He was breathing hard as he stared at her, puzzlement in his eyes. She quickly shimmied out of her pants and underwear and then grabbed his tie. He got the hint, and with steady hands, he removed his clothing. With hungry eyes, she watched him shed his shirt last, his dripping erection peeking out from beneath the hem.

She beckoned him to her, and he climbed on top of her. He spread her legs forcefully and then entered her in one quick thrust. She cried out. Hannibal thrust into her hard, then pulled out all the way to the tip, then thrust into her again. And again. And again. He rode her, sweat dripping off his body onto hers. She tilted her head back, feeling the sensation of his thick cock penetrating her. Every time he pulled out all the way, she cried out.

Then he reached up one hand and wrapped it around her neck. One time near the beginning of their relationship, she'd asked him to choke her, and he'd responded enthusiastically. She moaned while she could, until she felt increasing pressure cut off her breath.

In her light-headed state, her mind wandered. Images flashed through her mind.

She saw Miriam Lass, and the body in the park. She saw the burnt body she'd thought was Hannibal Lecter on the lab's cold metal exam table. She saw Simon Mason, bleeding out on her floor after Hannibal stabbed him. She saw Martin Vang, his neck blue from being strangled, and realized his name was in her patient notes, which Hannibal could have looked at.

Finally, she looked up at her husband and saw Hannibal's eyes as he choked her just to the point of blacking out. He looked like he had when he'd licked the knife. He looked like a monster.

She shuddered around Hannibal's cock as she came hard.

The puzzle pieces came together, and Alana wondered how she'd denied it for so long: Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper. She could no longer deny it.

Her orgasm rocked through her, and she felt tears welling at the corners of her eyes as Hannibal's hands left her neck. She felt his cock spew warm liquid inside of her.

Her husband was a cannibalistic serial killer.

_The most terrifying thing in the world can be a lucid moment. _

* * *

What did you think of this chapter?


	25. One Other

**Title: **One Other, Day 26 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom: **Hannibal  
**Pairing: **Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13  
**Author's notes:** It's strange to me that some of my favorite chapters, like the last one, end up being some of my least popular. Then again, I can't help but love all of my babies…I mean, chapters! Hope you like this little one!

* * *

Hannibal's arms were wrapped around her possessively. She lay in his arms, listening to the unwavering beat of his heart and the steady inhale and exhale of his breath as he slept. Her mind vacillated between loving Hannibal, the refined, caring, brilliant doctor, and fearing Hannibal, the cold, clever, cannibalistic serial killer. She'd been making love to her husband when she finally realized what he was; all the pieces finally came together to tell her that he was a monster inside.

She'd gotten up after intercourse and finished preparing dinner for her and Hannibal. They'd eaten dinner while discussing their days, like any other evening. She hoped that she played her part well: the part of clueless, loving wife. Alana left out her knowledge of the newest Ripper case, and Hannibal didn't bring up if Jack ended up calling him to consult either. Alana hadn't believed many secrets were kept between her and her husband, but now she knew that he'd kept the greatest secret of all from her; he'd kept the secret of who he really was from her.

At one point, Alana had come to the conclusion that she would still love Hannibal even if he was the Chesapeake Ripper. Indeed, she knew that she did still love him even with the knowledge of the monster he was. Nothing could take away the tender, loving moments she'd had with him. Perhaps she was his longest con yet, simply the queen on his chess board, protected yet able to be sacrificed if necessary for the king's protection. But still, she thought about his sweet kisses, his gentle caresses. She thought about him patiently educating her, from their days as formal teacher and student to him teaching her how to cook new dishes or play the theremin. She thought about the way he called her darling, his numylėtinė, when he was inside of her. If he'd played her like one of her instruments, he'd played her well, because she loved him, loved him, loved him.

But she feared for her safety. And, she thought with a sigh, the safety of one other.

She'd suspected for a week. Could her whole life change in a week? Who was she kidding: her whole life could change in an instant. She was not simply fearful, she was terrified now. She'd been excited, ecstatic, when she bought the pregnancy test two days previous. She'd kept it tucked in her purse, waiting for the right moment to bring up the possibility that she might be pregnant to Hannibal.

She'd pictured his reaction. A flash of fear would cross his face, then joy. He'd ask, incredulously, "I'm going to be a tėtis?"

She knew her imagination was skewed; there was no way Hannibal would react as she'd pictured, but she hoped he'd eventually be happy, willing to share in her joy and excitement. Events were unfolding exactly as she could have hoped; she had her beloved husband and now, she might be expecting a child. Everything was perfect.

Except for that small snag that her husband was a murderer.

She waited for Hannibal to turn away from her in his sleep. When he did, she carefully exited the bed and tiptoed across the room, sidestepping Applesauce, who looked up at her, then lowered her head and fell back asleep. She paused at the door. Hannibal's breathing was still steady and even. She left the room to walk downstairs and grab the pregnancy test from her purse.

She did not see his eyes open as he lay in bed, since he was turned away from her, his narrowed eyes reflecting points of light in the darkness as he listened to his wife creep away from him.

She took the test in the downstairs bathroom, then wrapped it in tissues and tucked it back in the bottom of her purse, rather than the trash, where Hannibal might find it.

Then she climbed the stairs back to her bedroom and delicately crawled back into bed.

Her last thought before she fell asleep was, "I have to leave him. Tomorrow, I will run from him. There's not just me to protect anymore. There's one other."

Tears flooded her eyes, dripping onto her pillow, as she fell into a restless sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal could smell her tears drying on the pillow. Alana tossed from side to side in her sleep.

She knew. And he knew she knew.

Though it had been years since he cried, one solitary tear slipped unbidden down Hannibal Lecter's cheek.

* * *

If you hate me for this, I'm sorry, but you know, pregnant Alana Bloom is my _thing_. What do you think?


	26. Let Me Play the Game

**Title:** Let Me Play the Game, Day 27 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom: **Hannibal  
**Pairing: **Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13  
**Author's notes: **Alana's birth control failed, if anyone was wondering. She didn't deliberately get pregnant or anything like that. I have these details in my head that never make it onto the page, so...

* * *

The next day was a Saturday. Hannibal had patients in the morning, so when Alana woke up, he wasn't there. She turned over in bed and saw a note on the pillow next to her.

It said, "Did you sleep well, meilužė? I will be home by 12:30 p.m. See you soon.

-H."

She ran her fingers over the note. She could imagine him writing it, his big hands moving across the page producing his fine handwriting. She sat up in bed and folded it carefully, and then held it to her heart. Her body was rocking from side to side as she thought about what she had to do. She had four hours to pack and be gone. Only four hours to extract Hannibal from her life.

Alana sighed and got out of bed. First, she called Will.

"Hello, Alana."

"Will. I need to go away for awhile. Can you take Applesauce?"

She could hear his hissing intake of breath on the other line. "Can't your…husband…watch her?" She could hear his hurt, even now, across the distance.

She answered, "No, he can't. And I thought she'd be better with you."

"What does it tell you when you can't even leave your dog safely with Hannibal Lecter?"

Alana could feel the tears start to well up in her eyes. It told her everything. That was the problem. "Will, I can't do this," she stated, her voice unwavering. "Can you take her or not?"

He sighed. "Of course."

"Can I drop her off today? I'll call when I'm on my way."

"Yes." The line abruptly cut off as Will hung up on her. She thought about throwing her phone across the room, but she reconsidered; she'd need it to get away, at least until she ditched her phone and picked up a pre-paid one, one with a number Hannibal didn't know.

Where could she even go? She realized Hannibal had alienated her from her closest friend, Will. Even if he hadn't, Will would not be safe to go to since Hannibal knew him and his whereabouts. Any of their shared acquaintances were out then. Her mother's house was not a viable choice either, for Hannibal knew where she lived, and Alana would not put her mother in danger. Alana refused to put anyone she knew in danger. So she knew then that, wherever she was going, she would go alone.

She showered and dressed, then walked out the door and stood in the humid early morning sunshine, knowing she may never feel the Maryland sun shining down on her ever again. Then she walked to her garage, where she dug out her luggage from her storage. She dragged a suitcase inside of her home and began to pack.

She folded clothes-pants, shirts, and dresses-and placed them in her suitcase. Then came her undergarments. She fingered the fine lace of her brassieres as she thought about how her breasts would soon swell and she'd trade in the lace for practical nursing bras.

She wondered what a child she could have with Hannibal Lecter. A murderer for a father was not a good start for a child. But she hoped that taking her child away from its father's influence would be enough. She just hoped she wouldn't have to hide her and her child away forever. Then she realized that the only way she and the baby would ever be able to come out of hiding would be if Hannibal was caught. So she needed him to be incarcerated. But the thought of her beloved rotting in a cell was overwhelming. She sat amongst her clothes on her bed and sobbed.

When she finally collected herself, the clock read 10:42 a.m. Time seemed to be racing forward now that she had so little time left. Alana began moving feverishly. She rushed around the room, gathering her toiletries and other things she needed. Then she stopped at her closet and tentatively opened the right side.

A whiff of Hannibal's scent floated out, and Alana felt like crying again. She took a handful of deep breaths, then reached in and pulled out her favorite shirt of Hannibal's. It was a blue and white pinstriped button-up shirt. She inhaled. Even clean, it still smelled like Hannibal. She ran the soft fabric between her fingers. Then she folded it carefully and walked over to her bed, placing it on top of her clothes in her suitcase.

Next, she placed Hannibal's mother's necklace around her neck. She'd decided to take the sapphire pendant he'd given her on her 36th birthday with her. She'd worn it nearly every day for almost the previous year, and she couldn't bear to leave behind any piece of Hannibal she could take with her.

Finally she dragged her bag to her car. When it was secured in the trunk, she walked back inside. She was going to make a list of what she needed to do to succeed on the run. She started the list mentally. "Number 1: Go to the bank and remove cash, close bank account." She turned to lock the door behind her when the handle turned.

Alana gasped and spun to look at the clock. "No! It's only 11:16!" she thought, near hysterics.

Hannibal opened the door and smiled when he saw her standing in the doorway. "Going somewhere, my dear?"

"Just checking the weather!" she said, mentally checking her voice after to make sure she didn't squeak. She hadn't. Good.

He stepped into her entryway and closed the door behind him. She backed up. "I thought you weren't going to be home for another hour or so?"

"My last patient of the day canceled. So I came home early to my lovely wife." He placed his bag on the floor as he spoke, then picked her up. Her legs came up around his waist as if it were any other day. She had to continue playing the game. For how much longer, she didn't know. She let him kiss her and she kissed him back. When she slid down his body, her feet coming to rest on the floor, he released her and declared, "I'm famished. Shall I start lunch?"

Alana nodded and Hannibal walked toward the kitchen. "I'm going to read while you make lunch," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt so scared. She prayed he couldn't sense her fear, or, since he likely could, that he wouldn't be able to place it.

She grabbed a book from her bookcase and reclined on her love seat. Her eyes moved over the words on the page, but she didn't take in a word she read. Then Hannibal came out of the kitchen, carrying a steaming mug.

"I made you tea, Alana."

She took the mug in her hands, appearing grateful as she always had been when her husband made her tea, as he often did. She took a swig, hoping it would calm her nerves. "I'll get him to run an errand," she thought desperately. She took another drink of the tea, noting the taste of camomile, lemongrass, mint, and…

"Oh, no," she thought. She could feel her mind swimming and her body growing weak. She wanted to sleep, just sleep.

"You drugged me," she gasped to Hannibal as her head fell backwards onto the armrest.

He leaned in and took the teacup from her hands before she spilled it. Then he placed his strong arms beneath her, scooping her up. She wanted to fight, but her muscles felt so weak.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he apologized. He didn't look sorry in Alana's blurry eyes.

"What did you give me?" she slurred.

"Psilocybin and a sedative, among other things. I can't let you leave me."

Alana stared at the cold light in his eyes. She could feel tears of fear and betrayal swimming in her own. As he carried her upstairs, she could feel her eyes closing. She forced them open to say, "If you hurt our baby, I'll kill you."

Then her eyes closed.

Hannibal paused on the stairs. He'd smelled the change in Alana's chemical makeup. He hadn't pinpointed what caused the change. Now he knew: she was pregnant.

He carried Alana upstairs and lay her carefully on the bed. Then he lay down beside her and wrapped his arms around her, his hand resting protectively over her womb. He watched her sleep as he moved one hand in loving circles around her still-flat abdomen, thinking of girls named Mischa and Abigail.

* * *

Inspired by and titled after "Fever" by The Black Keys. Hope you liked it!


	27. Come Clean

**Title:** Come Clean, Day 28 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing: **Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13  
**Author's notes: **This has totally gotten out of my control, for the record. Thanks to Jade for some reassurance on this chapter before I posted.

* * *

She awoke to find Hannibal sitting across from her bed in her easy chair in a clear plastic suit. She gasped and tried to swing her arms down to boost her up to a sitting position, but then noticed that her hands were bound together in front of her in handcuffs. She cried out in frustration and betrayal.

"You and I will converse. When you are ready, I will remove the restraints," Hannibal said.

"I'm ready," she spit out. She struggled, trying to pull her hands free of the cuffs. They chafed her wrists, and Hannibal stood up, walking over to her. He reached out to still her hands, and she jerked away.

Hannibal smiled wryly at Alana. "You're not ready. Please, calm yourself, my dear. I don't want you to injure yourself."

He produced a capped needle and a small bottle from behind his back with a flourish. Alana tried to scoot back away from him, but it was difficult to do with her hands being bound. However, Hannibal simply placed the needle and bottle on her bedside table. "Hush, my rue," he shushed her. "It's sodium thiopental, which as I'm sure you know is a very effective 'truth serum.' Due to your pregnancy, I am adverse to using it. I'd assume you feel the same. So please cooperate, so that I do not have to resort to its use."

Alana could feel her body start to shake from the tension. His hands darted out and grasped her bound wrists. He started stroking her wrists beneath the shackles with the gentle caress of a lover, and Alana hated herself when she felt some of the tension start to leave her body. She asked, "What do you want, Hannibal? Whatever it is, I'll cooperate."

He was feeling her pulse now, and knew she wasn't lying. "You will," he stated. He stood and grabbed a key from an old-fashioned doctor's bag across the room. Then he unlocked the cuffs and removed them from her wrists. He rubbed her wrists where the handcuffs had rubbed her skin causing redness. Then he brought one wrist to his lips and kissed the irritated skin. Alana started shaking and crying.

"Mylimoji, don't cry. We're just going to talk." Hannibal's voice was a quiet and soothing as she'd ever heard it, and thus she had never felt more frightened. "Tell the truth when I ask you a question," he commanded.

She nodded.

"First, you need to call...Will, I'm assuming? And tell him you are fine." He handed her her cellphone.

She called Will. Her voice didn't waver as she assured him. "I don't need you to watch Applesauce. My plans...fell through. I'm fine." She hung up.

Then Hannibal stated, "You were going to leave me." Alana nodded. He continued, "You discovered my truth. What finally illuminated it for you?"

Alana whispered, "You killed Chloe's uncle."

"He was a pedophile. A sorry excuse for an uncle, for a man. Is it such a loss?"

"No. But it's not your place to decide who lives or dies, Hannibal. You are not God."

"God kills indiscriminately. Just last week, a church collapsed on sixty worshipers in Brazil. I do not kill indiscriminately."

Alana clenched her fists, her nails digging into her skin. Was he trying to justify his actions to her? "You…eat…them."

"I don't see the use in letting meat go to waste."

Alana covered her face with one hand. She took deep, shuddering breaths as her body continued to shake. Hannibal pulled her hand from her face. His fingers traced random patterns on her shaking palm. "I have never hurt you, Alana." He seemed to decide something. He stood, and unzipped the plastic suit he wore over his favorite red sweater and dress pants. "I will not kill you." The suit dropped to the floor and he stepped out of it, sitting beside her on the bed again.

"Oh God," Alana thought. "You hurt me now, Hannibal."

He considered. "You are right; as you once pointed out, you often are. But I have only ever hurt you for your own good."

Alana could feel her anger rising. She cried out, "Not your decision, what is for my own good!"

Hannibal sighed. The conversation was clearly not going as he'd hoped. "I love you," he stated, staring into Alana's eyes.

Alana's lip curled. "How? How could a monster love?"

"Like this." Hannibal leaned forward and captured her lips with his. Alana raised her hand to slap him away, but Hannibal grasped her wrist and gently lowered her arm. And unwittingly, Alana could feel her betrayer's body responding; her mouth opened against his and her tongue darted out to lick his lips. He groaned. Alana hated herself for the way she felt, torn between disgust and lust. And love.

He pulled away, his breath coming in short bursts against the heated flesh of her cheeks. She felt a tear roll down her face. "How can I stay with you?" She seemed to be not asking but begging for an answer, any answer.

"I can help you."

Alana leaned away from Hannibal, back against her headboard. She thought for a long time. She could not deny her husband's horrible acts, but she also couldn't deny the love she felt for him still. If she were to stay, she needed…she needed…

She spoke. "Promise me you're done. Done with the killing."

He spoke without hesitation. "I promise."

Could she believe him? She didn't know, but she wanted to try. Another tear fell from her eyes. "How can you help me?" She would need help to forget her love's darker nature, to turn her eyes and mind away from his heinous actions.

"Let me show you."

* * *

Since I love titling my chapters after songs, this one's after "Come Clean" by Eisley. Charlotteof_denmark's prompt for this chapter was "kill you." But I couldn't bring myself to do it, neither could Hannibal, and fortunately, the muse cooperated. Are you glad?


	28. Theremin Dreams

**Title: **Theremin Dreams, Day 29 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating:** pg-13  
**Author's notes: **I can't believe I have only one day left. I feel like crying right now; I've become so attached to this story.

* * *

_Six months later_:

Hannibal turned in his bed. An unfamiliar dream filled his mind as he descended into REM sleep. The dream was vivid, and beautiful, and Hannibal Lecter smiled in his sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A recording of "Over the Rainbow" on the theremin played in the background, the little girl's favorite for bath-time. She still had the hair of a baby, fine and downy-soft. "Like Mischa's," he thought, as he poured a cup of warm water over her head. He thought he would always compare the little girl to Mischa, at least until she outlived Mischa. Then, would he begin to see her as separate? He knew he loved her as separate though; there was a place in his memory palace for Mischa, and now, an adjoining room for his daughter. It was a connecting room, yes, but separate, filled with echoes of his memories of Mischa and memories all her own. But this one reminded him of his beloved sister. Bathing his daughter reminded him of Mischa in her copper baby tub.

He watched as her hands came together in the water sluicing down her cheeks. "Papa!" she giggled, managing to sound stern even in her three year-old's laughing voice, "You got me!"

He leaned over the claw-footed bathtub filled only a few inches, massaging shampoo into his daughter's dampened dark curls. "I'm sorry, mylimoji. Lean back, now, Abigail."

The little girl tilted her head backwards. His own eyes stared up at him out of the tiny, angelic face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hannibal opened his eyes in the dark of his and Alana's bedroom. He felt the cool Tuscan air breeze through their open window. He stood up and walked over to the open window and stared out at the lights of the city of Florence in the distance. Then he turned back to his sleeping wife. He watched her eyes move under her eyelids. He wondered what she dreamed of.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alana sat across from a beautiful teenage girl in a red dress. The dress reminded her of her wedding dress, a lace sheath, except this one was more girly than sexy, with a bow around the waist. The girl had her own dark curls and Hannibal's eyes, but otherwise, she reminded Alana of a girl she once knew. Alana could hear the distant whinny of a theremin when she tried to remember the girl's name. Alana entered her own head and she pushed past the mental block. She found the girl's name on the door of a dark, hidden away room in her memory palace.

She read the name off of the door. "Abigail."

"Yes, mother?" the teenage girl pulled Alana from her memory palace with her response.

Alana stared at the beautiful teenager and stated, "We named you after Abigail."

In her head again, she reached out for the dusty door handle of the room labeled "Abigail." She tried to open the door to the room in her memory palace, and found the lock did not turn.

"Don't bother. What's in there is not for you," the teenager said.

Alana once again came back to girl sitting in front of her. She reached out and took a lock of the girl's hair in her hand, then rested her hand against the girl's cheek. Both mother and daughter smiled. "I need to know…" Alana's voice trailed off.

Her daughter reached up and grasped Alana's hand in her own. "No, you don't, mom. You love Papa. He loves you. Let the past go."

"Let it go?"

"Let it go…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alana opened her eyes to see Hannibal standing at the window, staring at her. She smiled at her husband. He approached the bed where she lay and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her too. Then he spoke.

"I dreamt of our daughter, Alana."

"You did? I did as well."

He reached out and stroked the smooth expanse of her swollen abdomen. He waited for his child to kick his hand. He felt a nudge against his palm, and smiled. "So it's a female, then."

"Our daughter." Alana smiled at the thought of the teenage girl she'd seen in her dreams, and wondered how old their daughter was in Hannibal's dreams. She thought about the previous six months. She didn't remember a lot of what happened before. She knew Hannibal had a dark past. But she felt disconnected from it whenever she tried to think about it in depth. She heard the hauntingly beautiful warble of the theremin whenever she tried to remember certain key moments, and whenever that happened, her mind drifted away to happier times. A dinner with Hannibal, his warm embrace, his body moving over hers in the moonlight shining through their bedroom window: these were the things Alana Lecter remembered, and all she needed to remember. She knew there were missing pieces, but they no longer troubled her mind. And tonight, as Hannibal crawled back into bed, wrapping his arms around her and their child, she knew she would never be troubled by them again.

"Hannibal?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I don't need the drugs anymore. Or the hypnosis. I'll stay with you. Forever."

* * *

Yes, this is purposefully meant to allude to what he does to Clarice in the book Hannibal. If you were wondering. An old dog doesn't change his tricks.


	29. Ever After

**Title:** Ever After, Day 30 of 30 Days of Hannibloom  
**Fandom:** Hannibal  
**Pairing:** Hannibloom  
**Rating: **pg-13  
**Author's notes: **Since someone asked, Day 11 was posted as a separate stand-alone called "A Journal of Lust and Hate."

So this is Day 30, y'all. Day 30?! *uncontrollable sobbing*

So, to end this, some final dedications:

To Charlotteof_Denmark, for sharing her prompts with me and being a constant cheerleader,  
Lucy for helping correct some of my Lithuanian,  
Mchanni and Jade for their encouragement, and  
For you, reader.

* * *

_Five years later:_

Alana sat on her Tuscan balcony drinking a cup of tea. The tea tasted of rose petals, hibiscus, and fennel, and nothing else. Alana's husband hadn't drugged her in five years. Memories were starting to come back. One had come back that very morning, and Alana sat on the balcony, lost in her thoughts as she sipped her tea.

She knew it gave her away as American when she went to the store and asked for tea instead of coffee, but so did her accent. She had learned Italian, but she still couldn't speak it as well as her husband and daughter, who were both fluent in the language. She loved Italy but still sometimes felt separate, other. But it was home, wherever Hannibal and Abigail were would always be home.

From inside the house, she heard the poetic-sounding trill of her daughter's voice speaking a mix of Italian and English to her father, her beloved papa.

"Come questo, papa. Like this!"

The lovely, soothing notes from the piano flowed from the house out to where Alana sat on the balcony. She listened to the song and placed it as Yiruma's "River Flows in You." Alana knew that Abigail was playing the song for her papa. Her daughter was already a talented piano player at four years of age, almost supernaturally so. She took after her father in so many ways, and Alana was proud of her little enigma of a child.

Next she heard the beginning of the song again, this time tentative and with mistakes. "Like that, mylimoji?" Hannibal asked. He was teasing their daughter by playing the song poorly; he could perfectly imitate any song she might play him on the piano.

Abigail giggled, and it sounded to Alana like a beautiful high-pitched series of musical notes coming from her daughter's lovely little mouth. "No, papa!"

Alana stood up and walked to their kitchen, depositing her empty glass in the dishwasher. Then she walked into their sitting room, where Hannibal and Abigail sat at their big grand piano. It had been Abigail's 3rd birthday gift from her papa ("How you spoil her so," Alana had chastised Hannibal, "She's only three! She won't be able to play that!"). But the little girl took strongly to the instrument and now spent nearly every morning playing the piano while her proud parents listened. Alana could sometimes read the gloating in Hannibal's look, "I told you she'd be able to play," even though he'd never say it aloud, for that would be rude. And more importantly, it might result in his beloved wife not speaking to him for a day. She never did last longer than a day, even when she was furious with him, which was rare.

She walked up behind Hannibal and wrapped her arms around his back. Then she kissed his neck. She could feel his pulse beneath her lips. She rested her mouth there against his pulsing neck as he swallowed. Then he turned to kiss her lips. She opened her mouth beneath his gladly. He moaned deep in his throat.

A tug on Alana's shirt pulled her attention away from her husband. She broke the kiss and looked down at Abigail sitting on the piano bench. Her daughter stared up at her with big eyes and asked politely, "Please listen to me play, mommy."

"Yes, honey." Abigail turned away from her and started to play.

Hannibal looked up at Alana and when he captured her eye, stated, "We're lucky, aren't we, numylėtinė?"

Hannibal's old term of endearment for her brought the memory she'd recaptured to the forefront of her mind, and she frowned. "We need to talk," she mouthed to Hannibal. His eyes narrowed and he frowned, but then he turned to Abigail and smiled. "Keep going, Abigail. Your song is lovely, my daughter."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They stood outside the back door of their big Italian villa. Abigail played on their land in back of the villa with Applesauce, tossing a ball to the dog. She tossed the ball beside an olive tree, and Applesauce dodged to the tree to pick up the ball and returned it to the giggling child.

Alana watched her daughter as she spoke. "I remember you…killing for me." Then she turned to Hannibal to gauge his reaction.

His mouth was in a narrow line as if he was angry. But his eyes looked frightened and wary. "Yes, darling, I did kill for you. To save your life."

"I remember that, Hannibal. It scared me this morning, when I remembered. And then I realized: I would kill for you. I would kill for her," she said, motioning to Abigail. "To save your lives, I'd do anything. You really, truly love me."

Hannibal smiled, his brilliant teeth gleaming in the Tuscan daylight. "I really, truly do."

Alana grasped Hannibal's hand in hers. "I know you've killed others. I don't remember the details. But I know you have." She leaned over and kissed his shoulder, which was currently tensed. "But that's your past. Abigail is our future."

"Yes, that's all in the past," he confirmed, and he kissed Alana, then turned his gaze from his beloved wife to his future.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They never found enough evidence to bring Hannibal Lecter to trial as the Chesapeake Ripper, and the Ripper murders stopped in 2015. There were no comparable murders in the Italian countryside either. The last Hannibal had heard, Will Graham still professed that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, but thankfully, no one listened.

For his wife and child, he stopped. Only for them.

Hannibal didn't believe in happily ever after.

Alana wanted to believe.

As they watched their daughter run around their big backyard with Applesauce, they both knew that this was as close to happily ever after as they'd ever get.

It was enough.

* * *

That's all, folks. *sobs more* Hold me.

Or is it?

I've grown so attached to this story, to Hannibloom, and to you, my lovely readers. I don't think I can give it up just yet. So if you'd like me to continue writing, I was thinking of doing some "missing pieces" or scenes from this universe that didn't make it into the 30 days. So comment here or drop me an email at nsg2411 if you have a "missing piece" from this story you'd like to see written! I can't promise anything, but I'd love to hear your ideas. I'll also be posting a 30 Days of Hannibloom masterpost over at tumblr (823freckles), so keep an eye out for that!


End file.
